Stoneblind
by Chamelaucium
Summary: Courting one's Beloved is a difficult process at the best of times, with complex customs to remember. For Thorin Oakenshield, it's a whole lot more complicated than that. Firstly, his Beloved is a hobbit who has absolutely no idea that he even is Thorin's Beloved. Secondly, Thorin may or may not be completely invisible to said hobbit. Mahal has ever laughed upon the Line of Durin.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This idea just came to me and refused point blank to leave me alone. And who am I to deny my Thilbo muse?! Therefore I give you this! Please enjoy. :3_  
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**_Note_: I'm making up a lot of dwarvish lore so don't quote me on anything because I'm making it up, bahahaha... Also within this AU everyone lived after BOT5A - except for Thorin. But it's OK he comes back (this is where the dwarvish lore comes in :P ) and everything will be happy :3 I've also changed how long it takes to get to Erebor from the Shire, because you don't want to keep a hobbit from his dwarf for too long... :P  
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**_Stoneblind_**

_Prologue_

Rise with the birds, ignoring the way their chirping always made him think of forest paths and cold mornings but the promise of new things to see and - just maybe - a glance from a pair of beautiful, aloof sapphire eyes.

Then first breakfast - steering completely clear of apples, so that the sweet juicy crunch won't remind him of mealtimes on the roadside, raucous laughing and warm smiles being shared.

Then a hot, soaky bath, maybe with scented oils if he's feeling luxurious - but never pine, that smell evoking too many memories of nights in forest clearings staring up at the night sky, so different yet the same as the one he sees at home. When he's washed and his hair is drying, it's time for second breakfast, something hot and filling.

Maybe he'll go to market after that, or perhaps he'll read - it depends. But he never reads anything about adventures or dwarves any more, as all he sees is a brooding face with sharp eyes in his mind; those eyes which would sometimes crinkle in a smile but towards the end became haunted and tainted by gold-lust.

Then time for elevenses, and then a nap before lunch. When he wakes, the postman has been so he goes outside to collect the letters, sighing as he reads another dull letter from one cousin or other or receives yet another invitation to tea from another doting aunt. Usually a Took aunt; of all the hobbits he knows they find his adventure the most fascinating and don't mind in the least that he upped and ran off with thirteen dwarves.

After lunch he potters around until dinner, sometimes having afternoon tea if Lobelia decides to inflict herself upon him.

But today - today is different. He follows his usual routine, right up until lunch when he goes to collect the post. There's a different letter in there today, a thick parchment with a deep blue wax seal, the insignia of Erebor stamped in the now cold wax. At the sight his breath comes shorter and he sits heavily down on the bench outside, his legs going suddenly weak.

He cracks the seal and begins to read, anticipation pooling in his gut.

_Our dear Bilbo and esteemed Burglar,_

_We hope you have reached your Shire safely and life in your smial is everything you ever wanted it to be. _(Although Bilbo would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, he is bored by life here after their journey. Much as he once dreamt fondly of his comfy home, now he longs for the days on the road with people he grew to love as friends. Except for one, whom even now he still dreams of.)

_We know you can't have been home long _(four months and ten days, to be exact; not that he's counting. Each day weighs heavy in his heart.) _but certain matters have arisen here and your presence is, if not absolutely required, then very highly desired by every member of our Company. We all sincerely hope that you will come back to us once again, our dear hobbit. We have missed you deeply and should you come back, although we cannot tempt you with riches, know that your presence will be welcomed most gratefully. _

_Our sincerest and warmest wishes, _

_The Company of Thorin Oakenshield_

Bilbo sits for a few minutes simply staring at the letter, conflicting emotions warring in his heart. Part of him wants to simply jump up and run off down the road right now; the other, more pragmatic part says to at least sort out the house and pack a handkerchief this time. He presses the letter to his lips and lets out a shaky breath.

He goes inside and immediately writes a reply. It reads simply, _My dearest friends, nothing will make me happier to join you all once more. I am on my way. Much love, Bilbo._

He ignores the stab in his heart as he thinks of a certain dwarf king, who had just begun to treat him as one of them before everything went downhill. A dwarf king who never failed to make Bilbo's heart race... But he doesn't think about that.

Instead he leaves the letter in the post box to be collected by the postman and goes to visit the Gamgees for lunch. He'll give them free run of his pantry while he's gone, and they'll do a fine job of keeping Lobelia away.

That night, he gorges on apples and reads every book on dwarves in his collection, and when he goes to sleep later he dreams of Thorin, as he has done ever since he left Erebor: the dwarf he let himself love and can't forget, even if he is now buried deep within the Mountain.

And early the next morning, with a pack full of food and plenty of handkerchiefs, Bilbo sets off on his way to Bree, where he will find someone to help him to Rivendell and from there to Erebor. He never stops to think about what business it is that requires his presence – perhaps if he did, he wouldn't have gone. But when friends call, Bilbo answers; his heart is lighter when he sets off that morning than it has been since Thorin died in his arms.

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There are many things in Middle-earth which can't be understood. Some were never understood in the first place, while others have been forgotten over the long annals of time.

When Thorin Oakenshield opens his eyes, deep in the dark depths of the Mountain, breath once more flowing through his lungs and heart beating strong, the thought of one hobbit foremost on his mind, only Mahal himself understands why. And the Maker has never been one for sharing his secrets.

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**A/N: The title sounds kind of depressing so it may change :) More will be up soon - hopefully... :D**


	2. He Wakes In Stone

**A/N: I wasn't going to upload this until tomorrow but I decided I'd give it to you all early, as a thank you for all your lovely, kind comments so far and for all the favs/follows! I hope you'll enjoy. :3**

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**He Wakes in Stone**

_Two months earlier_

The blackness when Thorin opened his eyes was so complete that he wasn't even sure if his eyes were really open. He moved his hand in front of his face - and winced at the stiffness in his shoulder, as if he hadn't used his arm for a while. That was odd.

He tried to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position - really, this bed was more like a stone slab than anything else - and as he did so he noticed the bone-deep chill in the air. He shivered and made to pull his coat closer around himself, but then he realised he wasn't wearing a coat. From what he could tell in this pitch-darkness, patting himself down to work it out, he was dressed in a woollen undershirt and rough breeches with leggings of animal pelt underneath. His feet were bare and so cold it almost hurt to move them, so he wriggled his toes until the circulation returned and it was no longer painful.

Now he was sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of this bed, or stone table - he wasn't sure what it was meant to be - feeling again a strange, almost painful sensitivity in his abdomen that made him pause for a moment, before slipping down onto the floor. It was icy beneath his feet, but in the darkness he couldn't see where he was going or where this room ended. He shuffled forward slowly, hands out in front of him, until he reached the wall. He winced as he stubbed his bare toes on great slabs of rock that were strewn around the room and bits of sharp rubble stabbed the soles of his feet.

Thorin carefully followed the wall around, making sure to keep his hands on it and hoping to find a door sometime soon. Eventually, as the stiffness in his arms and legs was causing them to burn painfully, the rock his hand was running over suddenly lit up, glowing a soft silver which almost blinded him after being in the dark for so long.

When his eyes adjusted, he saw it was little rivulets of mithril running through the stone. He stepped back to see the great pattern of lines the mithril formed, and stared in wonder as he recognised Mahal's hammer and anvil, surrounded by ancient runes which few, if any, now possessed the ability to read.

Where _was _he? What was this room and why in Mahal's name was he here? No doubt the answer lay in those strange, unintelligible runes, but Thorin was no closer to reading those than he was to turning into an elf. This mithril obviously formed a door, like the entrance to Khazad-dûm, as it had been before the darkness descended over those halls; that meant there had to be a password to open it.

They could never just be something simple like 'open', or 'please', could they? He tried 'Mahal', inferring from the symbols of mithril in the rock that their Father would be involved, and to his delight the mithril stopped glowing and instead left a door in its wake. That was probably the easiest of Durin's doors he'd come across. But he was still no closer to discovering why he was here, or where _here_ even was.

Pulling the door open - with a little difficulty, it must be admitted, as his arms trembled at the great weight of the stone door - he stepped through into a mercifully warmer room, lit with torches in brackets along the walls. Once he was through, the door shut behind him and disappeared, leaving no trace that it had ever existed. Thorin stepped further into the room, soaking in the heat from the torches and blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. His wandering showed him a small pile of something in the middle of the room, and he knelt down to have a look.

Clothes. It was a pile of clothes - _his _clothes, his deep blue shirt and jacket and trousers of a fine quality - softer and thicker than the ones he was wearing. His own boots and a few pairs of thick woollen socks stood neatly next to the pile. Without stopping to think about _why _his clothes were conveniently placed in the middle of this room, he shed the current trousers and changed into his own and pulled on his shirt and coat, sitting down to put the boots on. Mahal knew, it was strange enough waking up in pitch blackness in a room he'd never seen before; convenient placement of clothes barely added to the confusion he was already feeling.

Thorin felt almost naked without a sword on his hip or an axe on his back, but for now he just had to work out how to get out of here and find his way back to his friends, his Company, and - his hobbit. Thorin's heart constricted at the thought of their burglar, his throat going dry, but he quashed the barrage of thoughts threatening to surge up in favour of continuing to pace around the room and find a way out.

There were more of the strange runes etched into these walls, and it was all so alien that Thorin wondered if this was really Erebor. But he knew the feel of this rock, the rock of his home, and he'd felt the Mountain thrum beneath his fingertips. No, he had no doubt he was in Erebor; it was just a case of where _exactly. _Perhaps he'd consumed too much alcohol and had managed to find his way to one of his grandfather's secret rooms? He wasn't really one for drinking so much it led to inebriation, but everyone lapsed occasionally...

Surely the others were looking for him, by now? He knew they'd been celebrating the death of the dragon and the fact that Erebor was once more theirs, but he didn't remember much else. Had he really drunk that much alcohol? It must have been Fíli and Kíli who'd put him up to it; they'd both inherited their mother's excessive nature and no doubt they'd wanted to see him embarrass himself. He'd have to talk to them about this later... When he found them, of course.

Finally - this room was a lot larger than it first appeared, and Thorin's legs were surprisingly weak and his abdomen was still sensitive, bordering on painful if he breathed too deeply - he found a small door. Just a regular door, this time, which Thorin gratefully pulled open.

He found himself at the bottom of a very steep and seemingly very long corridor, the walls of which glittered faintly with small shards of diamonds embedded in the rock. Uneasily, he began to ascend - he must be very deep down in the mountain, then - and soon his breathing was becoming loud and harsh and his legs were burning because of the steep increase. He was confused - he was fit and strong; why then was he like a new-born dwarfling today? It must have been _very_ strong ale.

He seemed to walk for hours, but in reality it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. Eventually though the corridor's slope began to peter out and it started to curve a couple of times. Forks began appearing as he got higher up the Mountain and further along the path, but he continued along his path which felt as if it was leading him back up to the halls of Erebor.

He reached a huge flight of stone steps and as he began to climb up, he thought he heard voices talking. Speeding up, Thorin tried to catch up to see if they belonged to anyone of the Company, but when he finally reached the top there was no one there.

'Balin?' he called uncertainly. 'Dwalin?' There was no reply.

He began to walk again, and as he did so he imagined he could hear a faint hum of activity throbbing through the stone. He turned onto a corridor -

And suddenly there were _people_. Dwarves, going about their business, but Thorin didn't recognise a single one of them. He stood in the corridor, alarmed at what he was seeing - where had they all come from? - but none of them seemed to notice him, all of them simply stepping around him as they continued on their way. No one even so much as murmured an 'excuse me', and Thorin hastily moved to the side, unnerved at this behaviour.

He found another flight of stairs and fled up it, hurrying down the corridor he ended up on and then heading up another flight of stairs - still surrounded by dwarves who completely ignored him but were perfectly happy to laugh raucously with their friends. He would have been incensed at their disrespect, had he not been quite so perturbed.

After he climbed that flight of stone steps, he was finally greeted with the most welcome sight - the great city of Erebor, the great halls around which everything else was built. There - there was his throne! But...

Now Thorin was terribly, thoroughly confused. There was no way his friends could have made repairs such as that _already_, not even if Gandalf had helped. Mind whirling, Thorin walked the journey he knew by heart to his old rooms, up in the royal quarters. He could have walked this route in his sleep, and he arrived outside his old chambers after being effectively ignored by the many busy dwarves in the rest of the Mountain. He hadn't seen any of his Company, however, and he wondered where they and Bilbo were. _Bilbo... _

Thorin reached out to push open his door, but even as he gripped the handle to open it he stopped. He didn't want to go into his old rooms; he needed to find the others, find out what on earth was going on. But where would they be?

He supposed Balin would be the best person to ask, and he was likely to be in his office. If they'd managed to redo the entirety of the kingdom (which really messed with his head) then no doubt the offices would have been cleaned out and refurbished. So saying, Thorin began to make his way through the thankfully quieter corridors of the royal quarters until he found the chamber Balin had always occupied. Thorin remembered many times as a young dwarf prince coming here for a lesson or a meeting and sometimes just to talk. Balin was a dear friend indeed.

Gently he pushed open the door.

'Balin?' he said softly. Peering around, Thorin saw the white-haired dwarf at his desk, head resting in his hands as he massaged his temples. There was a pained expression on his face, and he was muttering under his breath, something Thorin couldn't quite hear. He stepped further into the room, his heavy boots thumping on the floor and only slightly muffled by the thick carpets Balin had had lain over the stone.

Balin didn't look up; he merely sighed. 'Ori, these contracts are nearly done but-'

'I'm not Ori,' Thorin said, a small smile tugging on his lips as the sight of his mentor and friend evoked such a rush of warmth in his chest. It felt as if he hadn't seen Balin in ages – which was silly, he knew.

Balin froze for a moment, but didn't look up. Then he shook his head, a sad smile appearing on his face that looked so much older and careworn than Thorin remembered.

'And now I'm hearing things,' Balin muttered, his voice falsely light and Thorin could hear the grief loaded in those words.

Thorin frowned. 'Balin, it's me. It's Thorin. Can you please explain-'

Thorin didn't know what he'd been expecting, but Balin's reaction was far from it.

The old dwarf sat stock still for a few moments, the air becoming fraught with tension, and then he ever so slowly inched his head up until he was looking at Thorin. His face was stricken and nearly as pale as his hair. He let out a small noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and Thorin heard his name ghost off Balin's lips in such pain that it hurt; he could almost feel the pain that word was inflected with strike him and slice him.

'Thorin?' Balin said, his voice low with disbelief.

Thorin tried to smile, but he instead focussed on stopping his limbs from shaking all of a sudden.

'No. This isn't... No. You're...'

'It's me,' Thorin said, but his voice broke and his head was spinning.

'But... You're supposed to be dead-'

Thorin succumbed and hit the floor, his legs giving way beneath him and his mind going numb.

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**A/N: Yeah... More soon! I hope you enjoyed this. :3 Please do let me know! :D**


	3. Half-Remembered Dreams

**A/N: I'm so pleased everyone is enjoying this! Thank you all so very much for all your reviews and the favs/follows! I really doa ppreciate it. :3**

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_3: Half-Remembered Dreams_

Balin was kneeling next to him when he woke, his head throbbing and he was certain he was going to have a fine bruise on his shoulder from where he'd hit the floor. He winced slightly as he rotated it, trying to lessen the stiffness. He couldn't even remember falling, or why; but evidently he had.

Balin was simply staring at him warily, disbelief written across his face; Thorin thought there was a trace of fear in his friend's eyes.

'Why are you looking at me like that, Balin?' he said shortly, his temper not improved by all the strange things happening to him today. 'I'm not a ghost.'

Balin made a strange, strangled noise in his throat.

Thorin heaved himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm, and stood up, looking around the familiar room. He began to wander around, Balin now standing but simply watching him, still wary and looking as if he was ready to either bolt or draw his sword on Thorin.

Thorin settled into one of the chairs in the room, close to the fire. He let out a little huff of contentment as the warmth touched his skin.

'Balin, please! What's wrong?'

'What... What's wrong?' Balin was breathing heavily, his voice raspy and quivering slightly; Thorin was surprised to see tears glittering in Balin's eyes. 'This cannot be real... What's _wrong _is that I've started hallucinating that my friend has come back-'

'Hallucinating? Why would you be hallucinating?'

Balin spluttered a little, but when he saw the earnest, confused look on Thorin's face and his expression softened slightly.

'If you are really Thorin-'

'Why wouldn't I be?' Thorin interrupted but Balin ignored him.

'-If you really are Thorin, what...what do you remember?'

Thorium shrugged. 'What should I remember?'

Balin's voice was hard when he replied. 'You answer me first.'

Truly unnerved by Balin's behaviour, Thorin did as he was told. 'I remember that the dragon was slain, and Erebor was once again ours. We were celebrating with some ale that Bombur found hidden away, but Bilbo was unhappy about something… Wait,' Thorin said, suddenly panicking and not noticing the way Balin was looking at him sorrowfully. 'Where is Bilbo? I need to speak with him-'

Thorin made to stand up and leave, but suddenly Balin was in front of him, looking in vague surprise at his hand where it rested on Thorin's shoulder.

'Just wait a moment. Do you... So you don't remember the battle?'

'There was a battle?' Thorin frowned.

'Yes, after you - Well, there was a... misunderstanding between yourself and Bilbo-' Thorin was about to interrupt, but at Balin's look he closed his mouth '-and, well, he left the Mountain. There were armies of Men and Elves and the situation was...dire, to say the least, but then goblins and orcs appeared and there was a battle. A big one, with lots of casualties.'

He looked at Thorin pointedly, who swallowed with difficulty, his mouth suddenly dry. '...Bilbo?'

'Was fine,' Balin said. 'But...Thorin, you - _you _- weren't. You _died, _Thorin!' Suddenly all Balin's composure, which he had maintained so well, crumbled; the white-haired dwarf's shoulders started shaking and his voice cracked.

'You were _dead _and we _buried _you! We said the rites and we held the funeral and put you deep in the Mountain! For ten months, Thorin; ten months we've been without you, trying to deal with losing you! I don't -'

He turned and looked away, his breaths coming deep and shuddering. Thorin just sat, stunned. He - but - he was _real_, he could touch, he was _breathing_; he had a real body, a body which could _hurt _and he could feel _pain... _

'I was dead? But… I'm alive.' Balin didn't reply, his back still turned to Thorin. 'So why am I here?' Thorin asked, his voice hollow. 'Why am I _not_ dead, then?'

'I don't know. But there will be a reason. Even if we don't know, Mahal will have his reasons for returning you to us.' Balin said, turning back. He sounded old; old and tired and so very weary. Was that Thorin's fault? Had he caused his friends to become like this?

'What of the others?' Thorin asked, suddenly urgent. 'You said there were casualties. Are the others-'

'They are all fine, although Fíli and Kíli have only been allowed off bed rest in the last few months. It was only you. You sustained too many wounds, too many mortal wounds and they couldn't save you. But the others live and are as well as can be expected. Even Bilbo-'

'What of Bilbo? Why wouldn't he-'

Suddenly Thorin stopped, as he caught snatches of memories, ghosts of half-remembered images appearing on the fringes of his mind before vanishing.

'Do you not remember?' Balin asked sadly.

'Balin - tell me I didn't -' Thorin could only whisper in horror as the glimpses of what he'd done crashed upon him, winding him and leaving him breathless with abhorrence.

'Tell you that you didn't _what? _Tell you that you _didn't_ nearly throw the hobbit off the side of the mountain and then proceed to banish him in disgrace?' Balin's voice was hard now, accusing; Thorin let out a soft moan and buried his face in his hands. This was too much; of all the things that had happened since he woke up in that room this was the hardest to bear.

'He left after you died. In fact, you died in his arms - he forgave you, even after everything.' Thorin could feel the echo of small warm hands pressed to his chest and a wetness on his cheeks of tears that weren't his own, and his heart felt just about ready to break. 'We all wept after you passed, but he the most bitterly. He returned home to his Shire, taking only as much treasure as his little horse could carry - and we had to force him to take that - and he left us. So not only did we lose our King, but our burglar and friend as well.'

So Bilbo was gone. He wasn't here. The hobbit that was the other half of Thorin's soul - his One, his Beloved - had left, and Thorin could feel the emptiness; he could feel Bilbo's absence in his heart.

'Balin...' Thorin whispered. 'I... I never told him that he was my One. He left thinking I hated him...'

'No. You spoke with him and you told him had been foolish, that you were wrong. He left knowing you respected him. But... He's your One?'

Thorin nodded. 'What sort of a dwarf am I that I would do something like that to my own heart?' he said bitterly. He wished he were still dead, so he didn't have to remember how very, very wrong he'd been... He felt so very weak now, his limbs heavy and lacking the strength to really move, so he stayed slumped in the chair.

'Thorin, everyone misses you terribly. Even now that Erebor is refurbished and Fíli will be a good King when Dís finally is willing to allow her son to take charge, nothing is the same and we have missed you so very much. I don't understand why you're here, but know that... I'm glad you're back, Thorin. So very glad.' Balin smiled, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and Thorin gripped his hand.

He gave a small smile - his heart was too heavy for much else - and allowed Balin to pull him into a hug, pressing their heads together. He felt drained now; tired and exhausted and all he wanted to do was sleep.

'Balin... Can I sleep? Is there a bed I can sleep in? I'm so tired,' he said, trying not to show the grief he felt.

Balin smiled. 'Of course. Your sister and nephews have ordered that your rooms be made up and kept exactly as they used to be. It's been...harder for some than others, to let you go,' he said softly. Thorin grimaced. The deaths of their brother and grandfather had taken their toll on Dís, and their father's subsequent vanishing had left them with only each other. He went cold when he thought about what his death would have done to her.

'Thank you, Balin. I... I will see you in the morning.'

With that Thorin left the room, hiding the way his legs were shaking. He felt like a dwarfling woken by night terrors, seeking the comfort of his parents and finding them nowhere in sight. He was as weak as a dwarfling too, his legs barely managing to keep him upright. He hurried as best as he could, leaning against the wall for support; the occasional maid he saw on duty in the royal quarters either didn't see him or didn't care, as his presence didn't seem to be noted.

Eventually he made it back to his rooms, understanding perhaps why he'd been compelled to visit Balin before going to his own room. He stumbled inside, and his heart ached when he recognised the familiar rooms and decorations, so seemingly untouched by time but there were definitely clues that told of the many years that had passed - the tarnish on the gold portrait frames, the patches on the blanket and furs worn down. He made it to the bed and curled up under the many furs, feeling shivery and jittery. He hoped no one would come in that night, as he didn't feel ready to face the rest of the Company - his friends and family - knowing what he now did.

His mind raced, however, and wouldn't let him sleep despite his exhaustion. If he'd been dead and had died of his wounds, that at least perhaps accounted for the pain he'd felt in his abdomen and shoulders when he'd first woken up. But where _was_ that room he'd woken up in? He'd attended many stately funerals and never had he seen a room like that before.

But the two things that eluded him were _why _and_ Bilbo _- the first, because all of this was too strange to be real, surely; the second because Thorin couldn't shake the guilt of what he'd done to Bilbo. Balin had said Bilbo had forgiven him, but Thorin wasn't sure how he could have done, and the guilt gnawed away at him, adding to the hollowness of his heart.

Eventually though Thorin Oakenshield, now not dead, fell into a fretful sleep filled with shouts and noise and blood, as he remembered the battle that claimed his life.

Well, his first life, at least.

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed! It's a bit angsty at the moment but I promise there will be lots of fluff later on! :)**


	4. His Hollow Heart

_His Hollow Heart_

The pillow stuck to his face when he woke up the next morning, leaving lines across his cheeks like puckered scars. Thorin couldn't bring himself to care; he felt hollow and numb and he simply stared up at his ceiling, watching the twinkle of the gems embedded there to look like tiny stars. Was one supposed to feel like this when they'd just been returned to life? Somehow he'd imagined it would be... Livelier.

A small knock sounded on the door and Balin quickly slipped in, shutting the door quickly behind him.

'Morning, Thorin,' he said, uncertainly: as if the events of yesterday were nothing but a dream.

Thorin started to sit up, trying to at least give some semblance of caring. He could see how much Balin was happy to have him back and it pained him that he couldn't be as enthusiastic. Ever since he'd remembered what he'd done, since he'd learned that Bilbo was no longer here, he felt drained.

'Good morning, Balin.'

'I thought you might like to see the others again today,' he said. 'They're all at breakfast together now...'

Thorin made himself smile - it felt horribly forced - and got up. 'I'd love to,' he said. 'Especially my nephews. Have they still been irrepressible terrors? I'd imagine the advisory council were quaking in their boots at the thought of those two in charge!'

Balin was silent, and when he spoke his voice was sorrowful. 'Not really, no.'

Again there was silence, and those simple words caused Thorin to flinch. Of course; he had helped raise them like a father - they would not have been unaffected by his death. To him, he'd just gone to sleep one day and slept for a long while, but to the others he was dead and gone. They'd thought never to see him again... But now here he was.

He looked down at himself as he got up. 'Are there any clean clothes here?'

'In the wardrobe. Dís is loath to part with anything of yours,' Balin said. Thorin wondered at that; Dís had never been a very sentimental woman before.

Quickly he shed the clothes he'd dressed in the day before and changed into an old shirt, ever so slightly faded in colour - as were all his clothes, really - but it was still soft and fine. When he was done he and Balin left the room and began walking to the dining room.

'Glóin and Bombur have obviously moved in with their own families,' Balin explained, 'so they don't join us any more. But you'll see them later, I'm sure. Sometimes Ori's so busy in the library that he forgets to go home and falls asleep there, missing breakfast of course unless Dori makes a point of going and fetching him.' Thorin laughed at the image of Dori pulling a disgruntled Ori along behind him. 'Dís won't be here. She... She prefers to eat alone in the mornings. Your nephews come but your sister won't.'

Thorin nodded; he wasn't sure if he could face Dís yet. He felt ill now though; could he even face his Company? People he'd grown to love as friends and kin? He felt positively terrified, if he was honest, but they were stopping outside the dining room door and with a friendly pat on his arm, Balin was pushing it open.

Thorin could hear subdued chatter as Balin opened it, the sound washing over Thorin like a breeze and taking him back to days spent on the road and evenings spent around a fire with only each other for company... Thorin didn't let himself think about his missing hobbit.

There was a gentle lull in the conversation as everyone paused to see who had opened the door; upon Balin's entrance a few murmured greetings and conversation resumed again. Then Thorin stepped through the door, unsure what to expect. Kíli looked up at the slight stomp of his boots and looked at him.

'Morning, Uncle,' he said drowsily, yawning. Then he froze, Fíli and he sharing a look before slowly looking back to where Thorin stood. They gaped.

At the Princes' faces the rest of the Company stopped chattering and all looked at where Thorin stood - except for Óin, who didn't seem to have heard anything. Without Glóin to nudge him, he didn't look up and merely continued eating.

'Uncle? Uncle Thorin?' Fíli asked, voice quiet in shock. The rest of the company was completely silent, all staring at him with open mouths and disbelief written on their faces.

'It's me, boys,' Thorin said gently.

'No. No, it can't be,' Dori muttered sharply. 'I'm imagining this, surely,' he said, shaking his head. But he didn't stop staring at Thorin, who was beginning to feel a little self- onscious as his friends just stared,

'But you... You died...' was all Bofur could splutter out. Thorin had to smile wryly at the almost perfect echo of Balin's words the previous evening.

'No, they just got into the woodwork somehow,' Óin said, still oblivious and talking nonsense, until Dwalin elbowed him and he looked up, dropping his spoon when he saw Thorin.

'And somehow, I've come back,' Thorin replied.

There was silence for a moment longer before Thorin was assaulted by two Fíli- and Kíli-sized bundles of dwarf, the two boys nearly knocking him backwards. Once he'd righted himself he wrapped his arms around his nephews, holding them close. He breathed in the familiar smells - their oiled leathers, the soap Dís had always liked present on their hair - and his heart felt too full, as if it might burst.

'We missed you, Uncle,' he heard Kíli whisper, and when he gently pulled away to look them in the eye there was a damp spot on his shirt and Kíli's cheeks were wet; Fíli's very close to being so.

'Oh boys,' he pulled them back into the hug, feeling his own eyes start to fill.

And then suddenly Dwalin was there, pushing the boys gently to one side and hugging Thorin before smashing their foreheads together. Thorin was laughing then as the rest of the present company were embracing him - Dori nearly suffocated him, he held him so tightly, and Thorin had to gently remind him that he still needed to breathe.

Of all of them, Bofur's greeting was the most reserved, a hard pat on the shoulder and a grin; but he continued to regard Thorin strangely even after. They wanted Thorin to stay and have breakfast with him - he was tempted, as he hadn't eaten in ten months and his stomach was protesting at this fact - but he wanted to see Dís. He was worried about her, from what Balin had said (or not said) and he needed to see her.

He exacted a promise from the others not to tell Glóin and Bombur about him and to wait to surprise them at dinner, and then Balin was leading him to Dís' rooms where she was breaking her fast alone. That in itself was a cause for concern.

They arrived at the door, and Balin gestured he should knock. 'I'll leave you two alone. I think she'd prefer that.'

Thorin nodded, his voice suddenly gone and throat dry, and then knocked. He was surprised to note his hand was shaking.

'Come in,' a voice sounded from inside, and Thorin's insides pooled to water. It was his sister, his lovely Dís, and he hadn't seen her in so very long -

He pushed open the door, heart twisting and gut clenching as he entered.

Dís was sitting at a desk, a platter of food on the dining table sitting ignored and forgotten about. She had her back turned to him, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment already half covered in her notorious scrawling runes. Thorin's face softened in affection as he watched her, her dark hair flowing in long waves down her back just as it always had; but his heart twisted painfully when he saw a new mourning braid next to the one she wore for the boys' father.

When she heard footsteps behind her, Dís set down the quill she was holding and turned in her chair. Thorin stood there, giving her a moment before he moved or said anything. He saw her eyes widen as she recognised him, her mouth opening slightly, before she glared at him.

'You have a _lot _of explaining to do,' was all she said, before crossing her arms and looking at him expectantly. Thorin was flabbergasted at her cool and collected reaction. She only arched an eyebrow in reply.

'I... Uh...' Thorin didn't know what to say - Mahal, he didn't even know why he was here, so how was he to explain it to her? - but before he could say anything she was up out of her chair and then she was there, pulling him into her arms and laughing. When she pulled back to look at him her eyes were soft and Thorin could have sworn it was with tears.

'How come you... You believe? The others didn't at first.' Thorin pulled her back into a hug, her head resting just below his chin as he gently stroked the hair falling down her back.

'The others,' the bite in her voice muffled by his shirt, 'aren't as clever as I am.'

Thorin snorted, and she punched his arm.

She released him again and sniffed, smiling at him. 'You've still got a lot of explaining to do.'

'Dís, you... Balin said-'

'Don't, Thorin,' she warned, 'We can talk about everything later. Please, I don't want to talk about it now.'

Thorin just nodded. ' Can I help, then?' He nodded at the pile of paperwork lying on her desk. 'After all, by rights it should be me doing that.'

Dís shook her head. 'No. Go. See the others,' she said. 'I'll see you at dinner, and then _we-' _she looked at him pointedly '-shall have a talk.'

Thorin gulped; that sounded ominous.

He left the room, happier now that he had seen his sister. They had been each other's rock during the dark days after Azanulbizar; in the days they laboured in the towns of Men before they made their home in the Blue Mountains. There were a few strands of grey now in Dís' previously raven hair, and her smile had seemed almost stretched, as if she hadn't used it in a while. It made his heart ache.

Thorin headed back in the direction of Balin's office after the white-haired dwarf was nowhere to be seen. His heart felt so full, but there was still that part of it which ached constantly, an empty hole gaping and yawning which Thorin could feel growing. The part of his heart that was with Bilbo, far away in the soft green land of the Shire.

'Thorin.'

Thorin started, surprised by the voice. He turned and saw Bofur standing there, his usual grin missing and looking strangely sombre.

'Bofur?'

'How are ye?'

Thorin was slightly puzzled by Bofur's words, paired with the grim expression on Bofur's face; he replied with a shrug. Unease settled over him, and he stood stiffly.

'Not missing someone?' Bofur asked, a snide grin spreading across his face, as close to a sneer as he could get without actually sneering. Thorin felt his stomach drop to the floor, leaving him winded.

'Bilbo left,' he managed to get out.

Bofur stepped a little closer. 'Yes, because you made him! You cast him out as a betrayer and a traitor and you threw him out of the mountain!' Bofur's eyes flashed, and Thorin saw there were unshed tears glinting. 'He saved us and you treated him like dirt.'

Bofur sounded so sad, so accusing; Thorin knew he and Bilbo had been close, after Bofur was one of the first to accept him as one of them. Thorin knew Bofur had been protective of Bilbo; he supposed it was only to be expected that Bofur would blame him. But that didn't mean it hurt any less.

'You have_ no idea _what Bilbo means to me,' Thorin growled warningly, covering his emotion the only way he knew how: with anger and defensiveness. 'Save your vitriol, Bofur; no one hates what I did more than I do. And so would you, if you'd sent away your heart.'

Bofur's eyes widened, but Thorin turned on his heel, storming away from Bofur and back to his room where he finally gave in to the emotion and let out a few gasping, shaky sobs as he thought of Bilbo, on the other side of Middle-earth and so far, so very far away from him.

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**A/N: Sorry for the slight wait! I hope this chapter is worth it :P **

**DESOLATION OF SMAUG TODAY! I haven't seen it yet, but I've only got to wait another five days... agh. XD**


	5. A King in Doubt

**A/N: Wow guys, thank you all so very, very much for all your reviews and for favouriting/following this story! I honesly cannot tell you how much it means to me :')**

**OK about this chapter, I'm sorry that towards the end of the chapter it gets a little rushed, but I really do want to move the story on to get to Bilbo's arrival and then to let stuff actually happen! I really hope you enjoy this, though. :)**

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_A King in Doubt_

A small knock sounded on his door and Thorin hastily slowed his ragged breathing, hoping his face didn't look as if he'd just been crying. He opened the door and was greeted by the sight of his nephews standing there, looking at him uncertainly but grinning when he appeared. Kíli was holding a large tray covered in bowls of various foods, all of which smelled absolutely divine and had his stomach rumbling embarrassingly loudly.

The boys grinned. 'Hello, Uncle!' they chorused. 'Balin said we should bring you some food, so we did,' Kíli said, entering the room and placing down the tray on the dining table.

'He made us promise to give it all to you, and not sneak any for ourselves,' Fíli said sadly as he watched Thorin swiftly uncovering the dishes and savouring the smells of fresh bread, boiled eggs, new butter... Thorin immediately set to with gusto, closing his eyes as he relished the taste of food after so long. Not that it _felt _like so long, but now that he was eating Thorin was _ravenous._

While he ate, Fíli and Kíli began to chatter enthusiastically about how good it was to have him back and how good Kíli was with his bow now - 'As good as any elf!' - and Fíli's swordwork had been proclaimed nearly as good as Thorin's by Dwalin; about how the rest of the company had been in the ten months since the end of their Quest and Thorin's death. Thorin could barely get a word in edgeways; but when Fíli told him about Bilbo's departure Thorin tried to hide the way he hung onto every word. As he ate and listened to them, Thorin"s heart swelled once again. He didn't know why he was back, but he knew enough to recognise a blessing when he saw one and being given his family back was more than a simple blessing; it was a miracle.

Eventually he finished eating, his plates left spotless and Kíli looking disappointed at the lack of leftovers he could nab. The hours went by quickly and at lunch time his nephews coerced him into stepping out with them and going to join Dwalin in the training grounds, which had all been rebuilt and refurbished and was being put to good use, training the next generation of dwarves. They set off and Thorin noticed as they walked that there was a alight unevenness to Fíli's stride, a lilt in his gait, and with a gentle hand to shoulder Thorin stopped him.

'Fíli, what happened to you? You're walking as if...' At Fíli's slightly shifty expression and the fact that he couldn't make eye contact, Thorin's throat constricted. 'Fíli, you didn't...'

'You were going to be sliced in half, Uncle,' Fíli said, looking up at him earnestly, 'so Kee and I came and helped you; but you still...' He paused, sniffing. 'At least we _had _a body to bury.'

Thorin wanted to cry again. 'How badly were you hurt?'

'My leg was broken and got cut. They closed it with stitches but the way the bones broke meant they wouldn't reset perfectly.' Fíli wasn't looking at him again, so Thorin touched a gentle hand to his cheek and Fíli leaned into it.

'What about you?' he demanded of Kíli.

'Just - just some stitches on my back, that's all!'

Thorin said nothing, only willed himself not to start crying at the battlescars his nephews bore at such young ages. It wasn't right...

They continued on their way, this time Thorin watching Fíli closely to make sure he was managing, and not experiencing any difficulties. Fíli just rolled his eyes. They reached the grounds and Dwalin was there, a group of five younger dwarrows kitted out in armour and taking their turns to spar with Dwalin.

They shifted and slid onto one of the viewing benches, before Kíli recognised one of the other spectators on a row much further forward.

'Ori!' he called, making the scrawnier dwarf start as he looked around, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it was only them. His cheeks flushed pink a little as Kíli asked him what he was doing there. Ori explained that Dwalin had suggested he observe the lessons to improve his own weapons-practice theory; judging from the looks he kept shooting Dwalin and the satisfied grin on the other dwarf's face when he saw the raised eyebrow Thorin sent him, it wasn't _just _that; Thorin wondered if perhaps Dwalin wasn't interested in an entirely different sort of weapons practice.

Well, that was an entirely unexpected turn of events - Dwalin and Ori? Hm. Thorin tried not to think about how small, bookish Ori reminded him of Bilbo.

Fíli and Kíli chattered away until Dwalin was finished, shedding the outer armour and coming to join them, Ori stilll a little pink when Dwalin smiled softly at him. That small gentle gesture made Thorin feel so very guilty - he'd never done such things to Bilbo, he'd never shown him he cared even though he _did, _he cared about Bilbo more than anything else - and that evidently showed on his face as Dwalin steered him away from his nephews and Ori.

'Thorin? Are ye all right?'

Thorin nodded but then paused, and shook his head instead.

Dwalin rumbled in concern, placing a comforting hand on Thorin's arm. 'I understand this must all be very strange-'

'No, no. It's not that. Seeing you with Ori-'

'I was going to tell ye,' Dwalin said sounding slightly sheepish.

'No, that's not a problem. It... Dwalin, I did a terrible thing to Bilbo.' Dwalin's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. 'But what makes it all the worse... All the more unforgivable... Dwalin, he was my One. And I sent him away."

Dwalin's eyes widened with shock. 'Yer One?'

Thorin nodded. He wondered if he should be so open about this, considering his behaviour and actions towards Bilbo hadn't exactly been indicative of this. But then again, Bilbo wasn't here and what did he have to lose? He trusted Dwalin anyway, just as he did Balin. Probably Bofur would judge him even more harshly now, but at least he knew.

Dwalin still said nothing, and the silence was off-putting. But then Dwalin clapped him on the back.

'Well, that is... Unfortunate.'

'Dwalin, it's a Mahal-forsaken disaster!'

'Maybe,' Dwalin said. 'Maybe. But he thinks you're still dead, doesn't he? And it doesn't do well to think ill of the dead. And what's that saying - absence makes a heart grow fonder? You might find Bilbo thinks more highly of you than you believe.'

'But that's the point _- he thinks I'm dead!'_

Dwalin shrugged. 'We'll talk about this later; it looks like your nephews are terrorising my Ori.' Indeed they were, and Thorin allowed Dwalin to drop the subject for now and go and rescue Ori from the boys' teasing.

Thorin chivvied the boys away and said goodbye to the others, leading Fíli and Kíli away and heading to Balin's office. It was nearly lunch time, he supposed, and his stomach gurgled appreciatively at the thought of food.

They reached Balin's office and knocked; Balin told them to enter and they did. Thorin froze as two figures did as well - two red-headed figures who were gaping at him in disbelief. Thorin's heart swelled as he recognised Bombur and Glóin.

'Ah, Thorin,' Balin said, a twinkle in his eye and laughter in his voice. 'I was just about to send for you.'

'It's... It's really you?' Glóin asked, and Thorin nodded, slowly moving to be closer. He smiled a little, and jumped when Bombur suddenly shot out a question.

'What's your favourite food?' His eyes were narrowed slightly.

At Thorin's slightly stuttered 'Roast beef', Bombur relaxed and smiled. 'It's him,' he said.

'Well of course it's me,' Thorin said in amusement. And then the two were pulling him in for a hug and Glóin whispered how good it was to have him back. Fíli and Kíli had entered behind him and were grinning.

'Bombur, does this mean you'll start making your special roast beef again?' Kíli asked hopefully, and Bombur stilled.

'Yes, Kíli. I... I suppose it does.'

'Special roast beef?' Thorin asked.

'Roast beef in a brandy and thyme sauce,' Bombur said. 'Your favourite.'

'You stopped cooking it?' Thorin frowned.

'No one wanted to eat it anymore.'

Mahal... They'd stopped eating Bombur's glorious roast beef in brandy sauce simply because it was his favourite? He felt guilty again, and Bombur's comforting slap on the shoulder did nothing to make him feel better.

'Well, I hope you still know how to cook it,' he said, trying to be cheerful.

'As if I could forget!' Bombur said, smiling.

* * *

Thorin was ushered to lunch pretty soon after that and the rest of the day passed in a blur of conversation as he caught up with his old friends. Óin's brother-son had made him a new ear-trumpet to replace the one that had been lost during their travels, and Óin spent a good half an hour delighting in pointing out the craftsmanship of the piece.

Eventually it was time for dinner and Thorin's stomach knotted in anticipation at seeing his friends and family altogether again - and Dís. He still worried about what she was going to 'talk' about - even as a young girl Dís had been very physical in her 'talking', and whenever she and Frerin had argued it usually ended with Frerin and a bruised jaw.

The meal was slightly awkward at first, as everyone was a little uncertain about what to talk about, but eventually once everyone began enjoying the food and the ale it was just like old times.

The others kept asking Thorin how and why he was back, and Thorin lost count of the number of times he had to explain he had no idea. But he didn't mind; he was just a little overwhelmed at being back. Ori looked thoughtful however, and Thorin wondered if tomorrow would find him deep in the libraries, searching amongst the old scrolls and parchments for answers.

Dís and Balin and he were discussing what further action should be taken from now. Obviously Thorin was the true King and Dís was far happier to relinquish her Regency to Thorin than Fíli. Which meant public announcements would have to be made, as well as appearances - Dís' biggest fear was that the populace would think Thorin was a pretender; that he was someone with too much ambition wanting to sit on the throne.

If Thorin was honest, he was more scared about what he might do when he was _on _the throne; if he'd lost his senses to the gold, what could he lose when he had real _power_? The thought made him feel ill, and in his mind's eye the image of a terrified Bilbo dangling over the battlements by his own hand made him push his plate away.

After dinner Dís joined him in his rooms, the ones that were the same as they had been before the dragon.

'So you really have no idea why you're back? Or how?' Dís asked him.

Thorin nodded the affirmative. 'I just woke up in that room. I didn't even remember the battle, Dís - I thought it was still the night the dragon was slain, and that we'd all just had a little too much to drink and that I'd find the others - and Bilbo - soon enough...' his voice cracked on Bilbo's name, and Dís' gaze sharpened.

'Yes, I heard about your behaviour to the hobbit,' Dís said sharply, and Thorin bowed his head. He needed no reprimand from her, and she could see he was already beating himself up over it.

'I... I just hope that he's happy,' Thorin said. 'That he can forget all about us and go back to his life.' Of course that wasn't what he wanted; what he _wanted_ was Bilbo here with him but in the absence of that possibility then the other would have to do.

'A few months ago we got a letter from him saying he'd stayed in Rivendell for a few months and was leaving for the Shire with a couple of guards Elrond afforded him. It seems your burglar is quite the elf-friend - before that, Thranduil offered him hospitality in his halls.'

The thought of Bilbo staying with Thranduil made Thorin's lips pull back in an almost-snarl. 'He is a dwarf-friend too, Dís. Don't forget it.'

Dís turned to hide her grin. 'Of course not.' She touched a small portrait of herself, Frerin and Thorin, gently stroking Frerin's dark hair, before she turned back.

'I must be getting to bed, then. Lots to do tomorrow, brother-mine,' she smiled, and Thorin gave her a hug before letting her go. He flopped on his bed, thinking about what it would mean to be King again; thinking about how much easier it would be if he had a certain hobbit by his side to keep the sickness at bay.

* * *

The next day was a blur for Thorin, a jumble of meetings with the various Councils and advisors and nobility of Erebor, revealing his presence. He received no small amount of strange looks and disbelief, and some nobles were outright hostile to him, perhaps realising that the return of Thorin Oakenshield meant Fíli would no longer be King and Erebor would have a _strong_ king, not one who perhaps could be manipulated and encouraged to do what most suited them.

The days after that slowly became a week and then Thorin was being presented to the population of Erebor, in the Great Hall and surrounded by masses upon masses of cheering dwarves. It was everything he'd ever wanted - to be home, to be king - but he couldn't enjoy it. Not when there was one thing missing that he hadn't known he needed until he sent it away.

And so Thorin stepped up to the mantle of Kingship, Dís and Fíli by his side as Regent and Heir, and then Thorin was caught in a whirlwind of activity - although there was too much inactivity at the same time, as he spent hours upon hours signing and drawing up documents until the early hours of the morning. He always refused point-blank to enter the treasury, however; Dís or Balin would go in his stead, Thorin fearing the worst if he should enter the gold-filled halls.

After a month of late nights and early starts, diplomatic meetings and various councils, Thorin's brow became permanently furrowed and he seemed back to his old self - the self _before _Bilbo, before the quest, before his death. His smiles became rarer once more and it was a treat when his nephews or Dwalin could get him to laugh.

And as a result, Balin received two unexpected and entirely unusual visits.

The first was from his brother. This in itself was not unusual, especially as Dwalin cleaned out his entire store of cinnamon biscuits, but Dwalin's concerned voice was as he spoke to Balin of his worries was enough to make Balin pause for thought.

The other was from Bofur, the toy-maker tugging gently on his hat as he explained his niggling doubts.

So one evening after Thorin was ensconced in his chambers, surrounded by paperwork and blotting paper and broken quills, Balin held a meeting with the Company and Dís. Situations were explained, solutions put forward and one decided on; after exacting vows of secrecy from every member (Dís' death glares at her sons possibly helped in obtaining theirs) Balin wrote a letter, sealing it with the blue wax seal of Erebor and sending it off.

He hoped it would reach the Shire soon, and its recipient was still the hobbit they once knew.


	6. Journey to Friends

**A/N: Yay I'm so happy you guys are enjoying this! This next chapter is very much a filler one but I hope you'll still enjoy. :) **

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_Journey to Friends_

Bilbo treks like he never has before, desperate to reach Bree as fast as he possibly can. He hitches a ride from a passing wagon and he arrives at nightfall the next day. He stays in the Prancing Pony, in one of the comfortable little hobbit rooms available. He is exhausted and falls into a deep sleep, which is as usual filled with thoughts of Thorin. When Bilbo wakes the pillow is wet with tears he's shed, but he feels more content when he leaves the next morning in the company of a Man dressed in dun clothes and with a soft-spoken voice, who is willing to accompany him to Rivendell.

They make good time and only a few days later Bilbo is arriving in the Hidden Valley, laughing as the elves sing as they make their way to Elrond's home. He lets himself remember the first time he was here; he lets the memories flood him until his eyes are prickling with unshed tears that nearly spill when Elrond welcomes him kindly, his eyes wise and ancient. Elrond knows what Bilbo feels - he sees the mist of pain on Bilbo's face as remembrances surge up, so he takes him to a chamber and supplies him with food before letting the halfling sleep. Elrond admires this hobbit; he is strong, for one of the _pheriannath_.

Bilbo rests in Rivendell for three days, before Elrond provides him with an armed escort of guards and an elvish pony to ride who will accompany him to Thranduil's Halls in Mirkwood. Eryn Galen, Elrond calls it; but to Bilbo it is always Mirkwood and he is grateful for the guards to help him navigate the dark woods.

A week later they have crossed the Misty Mountains and have reached Thranduil's Halls, where he is met by another group of guards and they are welcomed by the elven king himself. Bilbo has stayed here before - the king insisted he allow them to make up for their inhospitality during his first "visit" (Bilbo can't be entirely cross about that, because it was after he fashioned their escape that Thorin began to look upon him more kindly and in turn the little seedlings of love Bilbo nurtured for him grew to full bloom) - but this time he only stays for a mere few days, only enough time for an escort to be arranged and provisions to be sorted, and then they are leaving Mirkwood. When Bilbo sees the Lonely Mountain growing steadily larger as they draw closer, his heart beats faster and he has to concentrate on staying seated on the horse.

He tries to tell himself it's only because he's looking foward to seeing his friends again - Ori will have surely been made Head Librarian by now, and Óin was going to be Royal Physician - but then his heart hurts. Because Óin will be physician to Fíli, young, blonde Fíli who should not have the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders at his age. Poor, dear Fíli whose leg had been so badly broken he'd had to be carried to his uncle's funeral. And _that's_ what hurts - that it's not Thorin he's going to see. The only time he'll ever see Thorin again is in his dreams. Much as he loves his friends, absolutely and totally, he can't deny that it is being in halls where Thorin once walked that will help to soothe his heart, as much as their kindness.

And, Bilbo laughs to himself as they enter Dale, maybe Thorin's spirit still lingers there, in his ancestral home. Maybe he _does _still walk those halls.

But then he gets the shivers and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end so he stops thinking about that.

He stays in Dale a few days, just enough to recover enough that he'll reach the Mountain in one piece. And then he sets off, only a few guards as an escort, to the Lonely Mountain, to Erebor; to his friends.

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Mahal the Maker has no love greater than that he has for his sons. When Eru Ilúvatar discovered them, Mahal put his children to sleep in beds of stone until such time came as they could walk the earth with the First-borns.

Of course, this is only a myth now; a legend the dwarves like to tell while sitting round the fire on Durin's day.

But what is myth, if not grounded in truth? For even the best and most grand of stories have their roots in reality.

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***points to last paragraph* _Is clue! :D_**

**I know these chapters are short but they help me to post them faster, so I figure shorter chapters are worth morr regular updates? :D I really really hope you enjoyed this :)**


	7. Arrivals and Revelations

**A/N: Guess what I'm doing today...?! :P In two hours I'll be sitting in the cinema watching Desolation of Smaug! I'm so very excited I can't even... XD Thank you all so much for your reviews and for all the favourites and follows, I honestly love you all so much! Thank you! I hope you enjoy this one :)**

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_**Arrivals and Revelations**_

Mahal, he was so tired. Thorin had been up for hours last night signing royal warrants and orders and treaties, and then when he had finally crashed to his bed his sleep had been fitful and disturbed leaving him more tired than before, as thoughts of Bilbo kept flitting through his mind. Not that this was in itself unusual; but the ferocity, the sharpness and clarity with which the images had assaulted him had branded them onto the backs of his eyelids, meaning whenever he closed his eyes even now he could see Bilbo - sometimes smiling, sometimes hurt, other times terrified.

He wondered what was worse: a King with gold-lust or a King experiencing the Fading. He hoped he hadn't reached that stage yet, however.

But due to his tiredness, he was ill-equipped to deal with the other members of his company when he made it to the dining room. (Even now he was King, Thorin still ensured he got to spend at least breakfast with them, considering he was so busy the rest of the time.)

Balin was sitting with a piece of paper in his hand, Dís, Fíli, Kíli, Bombur and Dwalin gathered behind and around him to listen while the others had all shuffled down the bench to be able to hear the words Balin was reading out in a low voice. As soon as they saw Thorin, however, they all resumed their usual spots and Thorin saw Balin tuck the paper up his sleeve.

'What was that?' Thorin nodded at Balin's sleeve as he sat down.

'Oh, it was nothing important,' Balin replied easily.

'It was important enough that the rest of you were completely absorbed in it,' Thorin said irritably, annoyed at Balin's treatment of him as if he were stupid.

'Peace, Thorin,' Balin said gently, smiling. 'You have enough to worry about without us burdening you with this.'

Thorin at that moment was too tired to argue so he let the matter drop, but filing it away so that he'd remember to ask Balin about it later. Except he forgot, and he didn't see the paper again to jog his memory and he remained blithely ignorant of what Balin's plans were.

He was reminded of the incident again when, a couple of weeks later, everyone was jumpy at breakfast and expectation was palpable. It was not conducive to a good mood, especially when one has a headache and is at risk of falling asleep where they stand, as Thorin was that morning after an increasingly disturbed night's sleep where his dreams had been so full of Bilbo that he'd eventually given up _trying_ to sleep; Thorin had spent the early hours of the morning counting the gems embedded in his chamber ceiling trying to stop the replaying images that haunted him of that awful day he'd nearly killed his One.

What Thorin didn't know, of course, was that that day was going to be a turning point. That day would be the start of everything. He was blissfully unaware of such facts.

So he sat heavily down at the table, massaging his head as he looked down at his bacon sandwich. He sipped on his tea and breathed deeply as he tried to soothe the pounding in his head. Mahal, this was like nothing he'd ever experienced, not even after drinking.

Fíli and Kíli were whispering excitedly among themselves and the air was thick with...something. Tension? It was too positive to be tense. Suspense? That sounded too ominous.

'What in Mahal's name is going on here?' Thorin growled. 'You're all wound up like Bofur's clockwork toys! Can someone please explain the meaning of it all?' He didn't mean to sound angry, but his head was _hurting... _

'Don't worry yourself, Thorin,' Dwalin said, grinning. 'It's a cause for celebration, not anxiety.'

_'What _is a cause for cel-' he stopped as he was cut off by the sound of the sentry horn, announcing arrivals. 'Who is that?' he asked as he stood.

'Thorin, you go and dress yourself properly, ' Dís said. 'We'll show...whoever it is to the receiving room. Go!' she urged him out of the room and, too tired to argue, Thorin did as he was told, making his way back to his chamber in order to change into something a little more formal for receiving guests.

He pulled on a shirt of purple silk and matching fur-lined jacket. Gold detailing and buckles broke up the heavy colour and matched with the gold beads in his hair. That was the extent of the jewellery Thorin allowed himself; he knew some of the nobles saw it as strange and undwarf-like to wear so little; but they were all too young to remember the blistering fire sweeping through the halls and the cries of dwarrows trapped inside echoing in the night sky as those who could, fled. They didn't remember the days of wandering, of homelessness and exile before new lives were forged in the Blue Mountains.

They didn't remember it, and Thorin hoped they would never have to. It was for that reason he wore these few adornments and nothing else.

Satisfied that he looked _King_ enough, he made his way to the receiving rooms where important guests were taken to be greeted by the monarch. He could hear voices, Balin and some of the others laughing. He frowned; the voices sounded unusually at ease, which was odd - unless they knew this person already. But why would they not tell him, if he did know them?

A small voice sounded out above the others, clear and bright, and Thorin all but had a heart attack as he recognised it. He hurried forward on shaking legs keeping one hand pressed to the wall to keep him steady as he reached the doorway. It was open and he could see inside.

There, surrounded by his friends, sat the love of Thorin's life, the other half of his heart. If it hadn't been for Thorin's steadying hand on the door frame, he had no doubt he would have fallen as his knees buckled.

Because there was Bilbo. Bilbo was here in Erebor.

* * *

Balin looked up as he heard Thorin in the doorway. He was struck by how Thorin looked, positively grey and looking at Bilbo desperately, wildly, but also in fear; Balin knew it was fear of what he'd done, fear of what he could do again. He caught Thorin's eye and smiled, and Thorin took a shaky breath and stepped into the room. The others all looked round at him and beamed, but Thorin had eyes only for Bilbo.

Noticing that everyone's gaze had changed direction to a point behind him, Bilbo twisted round in his seat too.

'Bilbo?' Thorin said softly, reverently; as he had never been before but _should _have been.

Thorin held his breath as Bilbo turned to look at him, waiting with bated breath for his reaction. Oh sweet Mahal, let him not be afraid of me, Thorin offered up as a silent prayer.

But what came next was possibly even worse than Bilbo fainting or running away screaming. He had the perfect right to do either. But what he actually did was a kick to Thorin's gut and his heart felt as if it might shatter.

Bilbo turned to look at him, but his eyes travelled right over him. Bilbo didn't focus on him; there was no locking of his eyes on Thorin, no moment of recognition. There was simply... Nothing. Nothing at all.

He slid his gaze around the general area the dwarves were looking in and then turned back to Balin, brows furrowing in confusion. Balin looked a bit confused himself.

When Bilbo spoke, it physically winded Thorin and he had to rest his back against the door frame to stay upright. 'What's everyone looking at?' Bilbo asked, his tone confused and bewildered. As Thorin gasped for air, Bilbo threw one more look in Thorin's general direction - his eyes passing straight over Thorin - and that was more than he could bear. He stumbled from the room, leaving a bewildered Bilbo and confused Company behind.

Curse his heart. Damn his stupid, fallible heart.

* * *

Bilbo watched in utter astonishment as Dwalin and Dís hurriedly left the room, faces contorted with worry. Only Balin's hands gripping an arm each of Fíli and Kíli had stopped them from running out of the door too.

'Could you not see? Not hear?' Balin asked, eyes questioning.

'See or hear _what_?' Bilbo asked, thoroughly confused. 'I can see and you perfectly.' Balin looked thoughtful. Bilbo ran a hand through his curls, giving a sigh. 'Balin, I'm tired... Can I take a nap before supper?'

'Hm? Oh, of course! Fíli, Kíli, show dear Bilbo to his rooms, would you?'

Fíli and Kíli nodded and immediately sprang up. Bilbo got to his feet heavily, feeling the aches and pains of travelling really setting in. He hoped there was hot water and a bath; but for now he wished only to sleep for a few hours. He could wash before supper, when he wasn't practically falling asleep on his feet. He didn't really notice where he was being led, content to just follow and when he was shown to a door and the luxurious furnishings inside were revealed, Bilbo just about managed to get out a "thank you" to the boys before flopping down on the bed.

He wrapped himself up in the fur-lined blankets, deliciously soft and warm, and fell asleep almost immediately; the heavy rock of something missing settling heavy in his stomach as he drifted off, a memory - or was it merely a wishful fancy? - of Thorin smiling at him gently filling his mind.

Bilbo may not have noticed where his room was, but Thorin did. He noticed because the rooms Bilbo had been given were the rooms neighbouring his - they shared a wall. It made Thorin's heart beat faster at the thought that he was only a few feet away from his One, his Beloved.

Dís and Dwalin had come after him as he'd run away in distress, like a coward. He curled his lip in disgust at himself. But he was confused - had Bilbo purposefully ignored him, or was it that he literally could not see him? Thorin would find out at supper, he supposed. He sank down by the shared wall, resting his head against the cold, smooth rock. He imagined Bilbo next door, his curls tousled as he slept and cheeks all soft and rosy -

Thorin stopped those thoughts right there.

But suddenly he was startled out of his own thoughts as he heard soft noises through the wall. Worried, he pressed his ear to the wall and felt his heart and throat constrict.

Bilbo was crying. His soft, barely muffled sobs were carrying through the wall, slicing into Thorin with each gasping breath and broken sob. But what really hurt, what broke his heart the most was the low, pain-filled voice breathing out one word, again and again, around the sobs.

'Thorin...'


	8. Long Gone

**A/N: I'm sorry I haven't updated as promptly as I'd have liked but I've been busy with end of term stuff (finally! Christmas holidays!) And then I haven't actually written a word this week because I've been way too caught up in squeeing over DESOLATION OF SMAUG! IT WAS SO AMAZING AND AT THE END I ACTUALLY FELL OFF MY CHAIR (how do you even fall off a cinema chair?! I don't know, but I managed it...)**

**So yeah my week's been hectic but now I give you chapter 8! Please enjoy! (You know I said it wouldn't be sad? I think I underestimated how much I liked torturing these two poor souls!)**

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_Long Gone..._

Bilbo fell asleep, and when he woke his pillow was damp. He was used to that, now; his unconscious mind still yearned for what it could not have and in those moments when he was at his weakest, barriers over his heart down and nothing to stop his mind travelling in those painful, raw directions, Bilbo dreamed of Thorin. Of the one person he had and would ever love, but who now lived on only in his memories and came alive only in the darkness of night behind Bilbo's closed eyelids.

Waking to a damp pillow was nothing new, but Bilbo was surprised at the intensity of the yearning in his heart. He'd thought that being in Erebor would help soothe the pain, but instead every breath hurt at the absence of the other half of his heart.

Wiping his face clear of dried tears, Bilbo headed to the adjoining washroom and drew himself a nice, hot bath. Even in the sleep-hazy state of fatigue he was in, he found time to admire the plumbing the dwarves employed. It was pretty impressive and very useful, Bilbo decided, as his bath was so hot it was almost uncomfortable, but it chased the pain in his heart away almost as effectively as it did the travel stains and dust.

When he was clean and hair washed, he got out and went to his pack to dress. He'd packed a couple of new shirts and nice waistcoats in his hurry to leave, and he supposed he'd have to get new ones made while here; but his forest green waistcoat with the cream shirt would do very nicely, he thought. He'd always been told that that particular shade of green brought out the colour of his eyes. Finally he was ready and he opened his door to peer out, trying to see if he could see anyone who could show him the way to dinner. No one came, so Bilbo decided to have a look around the area and see if he could find the dining room. He wished he'd paid more attention to where he had been going, when Fíli and Kíli were showing him the way.

He slipped quickly down the quiet corridor, marvelling at how different it was in the mountain conpared to home. No natural light, for a start; all the light was given off by torches held in brackets in the wall. The rock under his feet was so different, too; cold and unforgiving on the soles of his feet and more than once he stubbed his toe.

He saw another door next to his. He hesitated, but not for long before he gave it a few sharp raps. It didn't open, and just as he was about to turn and try somewhere else, the door opened and Dís was there. She looked surprised to see him, but her face broke out into a bright smile.

'Oh, Bilbo! Erm, how nice to see you.' She sounded half-hearted, as if her mind were elsewhere, and she kept flicking glances back to a point just inside the room, and Bilbo internally cringed a little. He was obviously disturbing something.

'I, er, I was hoping someone would be able to show me the way to the dining room, for dinner. I don't quite remember where it is...' He fidgeted a little as her gaze turned, for the briefest of moments, to just beside her and a frown appeared; but a moment after she was smiling again.

'Of course, Bilbo.' She stepped out of the room and allowed him to take her arm as they walked. She was smiling still but it was certainly a little off-putting when she kept glancing behind her for just the barest of seconds. Eventually they reached the dining room, where Bombur was busy overseeing that everything had been laid out ready and perfect for the meal. He pulled Bilbo into another hug when he arrived and led him over to a seat, next to one at the head of the table. This seat was larger and more decorated than the others, and Bilbo had no doubt it was the King's seat; especially when Dís settled on the chair to the other side of it.

Bilbo looked at nervously; would Thorin have sat on that chair if he was King? Or had it been made new especially for Fíli? No, it was definitely too old to have been made new. The thought made Bilbo take a few deep, shuddering breaths to prevent the tears escaping.

Angrily he blinked them away; he had never been this bad when his parents had died. It had been a _year_, now, and Thorin hadn't even really cared for him so it was all ridiculous, really, all this crying at night and weepiness during the day. He resolutely ignored the little part of his heart whispering that he hadn't been _ready _for Thorin to leave - it had been so sudden. And he most definitely did _not _listen to the part that admitted that had Thorin lived, maybe he might eventually have had feelings for Bilbo. At the very least, if Thorin was alive Bilbo could at least satisfy his own heart by simply looking from afar. It may not have been perfect, but it would have been a damn sight better than _this - _this _nothingness._

He sighed and pressed a quick hand to his forehead - if he continued like this he'd give himself a headache, and that was the last thing he wanted - but at that moment the others arrived. Fíli and Kíli first, shoving each other through the door; Balin, shaking his head at their antics, and then Glóin and Óin and Bifur and Bofur and Dori and Nori and Ori and Dwalin. Bilbo hurriedly sniffed away the last remaining tears and smiled, hoping it didn't appear forced. Because he really was happy to see them again, to see his wonderful, lovely friends once more; they just weren't _Thorin_, though, and Bilbo couldn't help but wonder if he'd been wrong to return to this place where memories of him were so strong and lay heavy over the halls like a fog.

The others were all glancing surreptitiously at the ornate chair beside him and Bilbo was a little surprised when Fíli didn't sit in it, instead settling down in the seat on the other side of Dís.

While they were waiting for the first course to be brought out, Bilbo leaned over and asked Fíli why he wasn't sitting on the chair that was evidently meant for the King. Fíli stuttered a bit, but Dís cut in smoothly - after shooting a glance to the empty chair - explaining. 'I am acting as Regent until Fíli is a little older,' she said. 'So he doesn't sit there because he's not actually the King.'

Bilbo frowned and nodded. That made sense, he supposed. There was silence for a little while while they waited for food and it was almost awkward, as Bilbo was very put off by the long looks that kept being sent to the chair beside him. It was _empty_, if it was bothering them they should _move _it-

Bilbo shook his head then. It wasn't his place to say what should be done just because he was paranoid about the way they seemed to so revere it; it was obviously extremely important to them so he pushed all irritable thoughts away. It helped when the food was brought in, light appetisers first of light and fluffy bread with a fine, sweet oil. Once the food was served and ale brought out, the atmosphere relaxed considerably and Bilbo found himself laughing and talking with the others, regaling them all with his stories of petty arguments with his neighbours and his cabbages and all manner of mundane things, but he was gratified all the same at the way they all seemed genuinely interested. In turn he learned of Dwalin and Ori's courtship - which invoked some gentle ribbing of Dori from the rest of the group, but especially Nori.

'What was this great, important matter that came up that means you need me here, anyway?' Bilbo asked, resting his head on his hand as he regarded the rest of the company slightly sleepily. As one, the eyes of the Company all shifted to the King's seat, and Bilbo shivered.

'We'll speak of it on the morrow, I think,' Balin said, 'when you've had a chance to rest. You'll probably want to return to your rooms now, I suppose?' Balin asked, eyes twinkling, as Bilbo tried and failed to stifle a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. Nodding gratefully, Bilbo stood up and smiled when Bofur and Bombur offered to escort him, which put pouts on Fíli and Kíli's faces until Bilbo assured them that he'd undoubtedly get lost again so they'd have another opportunity.

Bilbo was pleasantly tired as he, Bofur and Bombur started walking to his rooms, and Bofur seemed so excited to see him it truly warmed Bilbo's heart.

'I thought we'd never see you again,' Bofur admitted, fiddling with his hat (Bilbo had to laugh, as it was the exact same hat as he'd had before - Bofur could have bought any hat he wanted in Middle-earth yet he still kept that one!).

'Why ever would you believe that?' Bilbo asked lightly, but his heart sank at the look Bofur gave him; he knew why they'd maybe thought he'd not want to come back. Then Bofur looked pointedly at his brother and Bilbo could see that the two were thinking of something. 'What is it?' he asked, perhaps a little more sharply than he intended.

'Nothin',' Bofur said, hurriedly. 'It's just been quiet without you and Thorin, is all.'

'No, it's not nothing,' Bilbo said. He may be tired but he wasn't _dumb. _'You're hiding something. Tell me.' Bilbo knew he wasn't exactly the most authoritative body in the Mountain, but he thought he'd proved himself worthy of knowing whatever they were hiding... But evidently not, as Bofur and Bombur were both staring down the corridor they'd stopped in, astonishment and a little sadness present in their gaze. Thoroughly confused by their behaviour, Bilbo recognised that this was his corridor. Tapping each of them on the arm and wishing Bofur and Bombur a good night - eliciting only a 'Night' in response, Bilbo huffed into his chamber and shut the door loudly behind him. Honestly, the others had all been behaving so strangely...

Bilbo climbed into his night clothes but before he got into bed he carried his pack to the huge wooden wardrobe covered in geometric patterns engraved into the wood. He opened the door to unpack his clothes into it - but stopped dead in his tracks.

There, lying in the wardrobe - within easy reach for him- was a coat. _Thorin's _coat. The one he'd worn throughout their quest and which had been salvaged after the terrible, terrible battle. Bilbo's eyes teared up and he stood still for a few minutes, simply breathing deep as he tried not to let the tears spill. He lifted the coat to his face, feeling the familiar soft fur and worn leather and his throat closed up with emotion. Pack forgotten for the time being, he picked up the coat and carried it to his bed.

Had someone left it there on purpose? Or was it purely accidental? Bilbo couldn't find out but he did know that as he curled up under the quilts, holding the extra layer of the cloak close around him, it was both a blessing and a curse. He would think of Thorin that night, as he did every night; but he would probably wake dehydrated from his tears. He hated crying, but his heart hurt too deeply and too much for him to stop.

Unbeknownst to Bilbo, a certain dwarf was lying on his own bed next door, without a coat, silent in his grief that he couldn't speak to his own love. If Thorin's heart hadn't broken before then, surely it had now.

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**A/N: Thank you all so vvery, very much for all your reviews, favs and follows so far - I honestly can't say how much I appreciate all your support :')**


	9. Never Forgotten

**A/N: Well, it's Christmas Eve today so I probably won't be updating this story for a couple of days, unfortunately (I've got a bit behind in writing it but I'm working on it!) But in the meantime, I really hope you enjoy this chapter and I wish you all a very, very, very Merry Christmas! :3**

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_...Never Forgotten_

Dís was with Thorin when there came a tentative knock on the door. They looked at each other before Dís moved to answer it; Thorin's breath was forced from his lungs when she said, 'Oh, Bilbo! How nice to see you...' He saw the look Dís sent him, but his entire being was focused on listening to Bilbo's voice. Oh, the voice he hadn't heard in over a year and which even now soothed the ever-present ache in his heart but also made it worse, after what had happened that morning. Dís offered to take Bilbo to the dining room and Thorin immediately joined them, slipping out of the door that Dís held open just a moment longer to allow him to exit.

Bilbo didn't even blink at Thorin's sudden appearance, and again it was like a blow to Thorin's heart. He wanted to hold Bilbo, to hold him close and never let him go; but Bilbo didn't even know he was there. His hobbit thought he was still lying cold and lifeless, deep under the rock of the Mountain; he was anything _but_ now that Bilbo was here - his blood running hotter and faster when he looked at Bilbo.

He followed them to the dining room, slipping into his chair while trying to quash the flames of jealousy that burned him as Bilbo was hugged by Bombur. Bilbo then sat in the chair next to him and he studied the Thorin's chair closely, gazing at the ornate woodwork. He had a small frown on his face but it suddenly morphed into a look of pain, his bright green eyes suddenly filling with tears as he looked away.

Thorin wanted to comfort him, hold him close and tell him that everything was alright, but he couldn't because it _wasn't _and Bilbo couldn't even see him and Thorin could do nothing. The others all arrived and Thorin saw Bilbo sniff and hastily wipe his eyes, smiling at the others. They all smiled back, and cast a look in Thorin's direction. Wordlessly he shook his head and the others all sat down, occasionally glancing at him but most of them looking at Bilbo questioningly.

The next half an hour was torture for Thorin. He could feel the warmth radiating off Bilbo and hear his breathing; Bilbo's arm nearly brushed his and he could smell the soap Bilbo had used on his hair. Bilbo was so perfect and so sad and it hurt Thorin so deeply that he could do nothing; being so close to Bilbo after so long, so very long, set his heart racing and his stomach squirming so he quickly waved away the serving maids whenever they offered him food. He couldn't eat even if he'd wanted to.

When Bilbo asked about Fíli's seating arrangement, obviously unaware of Thorin's presence, Thorin once more settled into a dark mood and when Bilbo gave a soft yawn, barely muffled with his hand and eyes scrunching closed, Thorin had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to him. Instead he gently pushed his chair back slightly when Bilbo turned to talk to Balin, just enough that he could get up, and promptly left the room, stalking past the others and the maids and the servers. If he continued to stay there, sitting so close to his One but yet so far he thought he might go mad.

Instead he strode to his chambers, breathing heavily and trying to calm the raging emotions that were roiling and rolling in his stomach. He rested his head against his door before he went in, relishing the cool feel of it against his surely flushed and heated face. He expelled a heavy breath as Bilbo filled his mind - he was all that did, now, thoughts and memories of his halfling occupying every corner of his brain.

Every breath hurt with the knowledge that Bilbo had no idea he was there and as a result Bilbo was as unreachable as the clouds that floated in the unseen sky. He was unreachable, untouchable and out of Thorin's grasp - the knowledge brought not only a tight, aching pain to his chest but also little surges of invincibility in his fingertips. An idea popped into his head, worming its way to the forefront of his brain and wriggling to be acted upon.

Why not? Bilbo couldn't see him; he didn't know he was there. He would never know that it was Thorin... And it made Thorin's breath come a little faster to think that Bilbo could have something of his. Thorin had never bestowed any gifts, any tokens of his love while he had lived, and he wanted to rectify that now, even if his actions might go unnoticed.

So saying he removed his head from his door and moved quietly down the corridor to the door of Bilbo's room. Had Balin given Bilbo this room on purpose, Thorin wondered? Thorin carefully pushed at the door, grateful that Bilbo had not locked it. Once in, he shut it carefully behind him and stopped in the doorway, heart thudding painfully as he looked around the room. Bilbo's presence was evident, even after so short a time and with so few of his possessions brought with him: a pile of dusty, travel stained clothes lay neatly folded to one side, ready to be collected for washing; his pack lay placed on a chair by the table and two colourful waistcoats and a sky blue cravat lay on the bed.

Thorin's throat constricted but he did not allow himself to linger - he didn't think Bilbo would be much longer at dinner, so he'd better hurry. Although a small part of his brain cried out that really he _did _want to be stuck in the room overnight with Bilbo, he ignored it and instead moved over to the wardrobe. Maybe he'd never find it, but maybe he would. Thorin had no clue whatsoever of what purpose it would serve (perhaps none) but he wanted Bilbo to have it. It would make him feel at least a little closer to Bilbo, knowing the hobbit had it in his possession.

And so Thorin quickly pulled off his coat, his thick, battered fur-lined one that he still favoured over all his other, newer ones. He folded it and placed it neatly at the bottom of the wardrobe, offering up a silent prayer to Mahal that Bilbo would find it.

Then he quickly took a few shuddering breaths, not allowing the emotions to consume him, and stepped out of Bilbo's room, shutting the door softly behind him. He froze when he heard Bilbo's voice, however; he looked up to see Bilbo staring up crossly at Bofur and Bombur, who were looking at Thorin strangely. He shook his head, warning in his eyes; but suddenly Bilbo was huffing and moving towards him - towards his door - and Thorin hastily moved out of the way, leaving the way clear for Bilbo to get into his chamber.

When the door had shut behind Bilbo, Thorin turned his attention back to the brothers, who were regarding him strangely. He didn't know what to say, and neither did they; Bombur settled fot tentatively clapping his arm and Thorin managed to swallow down the tears that threatened to spill until he was safely in his own room, door shut firmly behind him.

He heard Bilbo's quiet, muffled crying from through the wall and his heart hurt so badly he wanted to tear it out; he would have done anything to make the pain in his heart go away.

* * *

Thorin was up early the next morning, quiet and solemn and eyes dark-ringed from his lack of sleep last night. He had tossed and turned the whole night and when he had woken from a very shallow doze and judged that dawn was not far off, he had given up and started to work on the paperwork he'd neglected the day before. It was boring but repetitive and more than once Thorin's mind wandered to the sleeping hobbit next door before he brought it back as his throat constricted again.

Balin had been surprised to see him after breakfast, but not unhappy. He seemed worried, though, and the purple circles under Thorin's eyes seemed to prove something.

'Thorin,' the white-haired dwarf had begun, 'I am so sorry. I don't understand why-'

'It is of no matter, Balin. And in any case, you have nothing to apologise for,' Thorin had cut in, ignoring the way his heart twisted as he'd uttered the lie -_ of course it bally well mattered, Mahal's sake._

'Thorin, that's a lie and we both know it,' Balin had replied, softly but firmly. 'And it will matter even more soon - you know the stories, Thorin. You've witnessed the Fading of a dwarf without their One. Do you think Erebor will continue to prosper with a King who cannot function?' Balin was right, but his gentle tone did nothing to soften the harsh reality.

'It would be a lot easier if Bilbo could even see me, Balin,' he said bitterly. 'At least then I'd have a chance of winning his heart.'

'You don't need to. You hold it already.' Thorin shot a sharp look at the old dwarf, question in his eyes. 'I have spoken with Bilbo, and it's clear to me that he has not forgotten you, Thorin. You are there in his heart and he still yearns for you, even though to him you are dead.'

Thorin thought of the way he'd heard Bilbo calling his name as he slept that first day, of the sadness in his eyes as he'd looked at the King's chair. Could it be that Bilbo loved him? Thorin couldn't believe it - he _wanted _to, by Mahal he wanted to believe that Bilbo could have feelings for him but he couldn't fathom _why _Bilbo would. The only decent thing Thorin had done to him was rescind that thrice-damned exile he'd issued in that fit of madness, before closing his eyes to the world. How could Bilbo love him when he'd been so _foul _to him for so long? It just couldn't be true.

'Trust me on this, Thorin,' Balin said as Thorin sank down onto a soft chair. 'Just trust me. I've decided that your priority is trying to get Bilbo to see - without that, the consequences for Erebor will not be entirely good, I'm afraid - so don't worry about your paperwork and holding court. I'm sure I can persuade the Councils that you've been ill and need some rest...' Balin was saying, all business-like and official, and Thorin stared at him as he tried to take it in.

'Balin, I can't just abandon my duties-' he tried to interject, but Balin silenced him with a piercing glance.

'You can, Thorin Oakenshield, and you _will.' _Balin's voice, usually so warm and kind, was authoritative then and Thorin just nodded. Balin had never been wrong before, so why should he be now?

'Now, you are invisible to Bilbo,' Balin continued, as if he'd never been interrupted, 'so do try and avoid doing things that may be alarming to him. But you need to be with him, Thorin, even if all it achieves is prove my point.'

'So what do I do?' Thorin asked, slightly panicked and definitely more than a little apprehensive.

'Just be with him,' Balin replied. 'Stay by his side and try all you can to make him aware of your presence.'

Thorin looked at him uncertainly. Wasn't that a little awkward? Balin just sighed and rubbed at his temples. 'In the absence of more knowledge, we just have to do what we can. And if following Bilbo about finally works, I'm sure Bilbo will not mind the methods used to achieve the result,' he said, slightly wearily. 'Now, Bilbo should be at breakfast right about now. So go!'

Thorin looked at Balin desperately for a moment longer, mouth opening as he tried to think of something to say, but when nothing came he simply got up and strode out, hurrying to the dining room from where he could hear the sounds of merry chatter. He stepped into the room through the open door, eyes seeing only his hobbit, his One. The others looked at him as he entered but he shook his head, and the others all swiftly returned to their food. Bilbo was talking to Bofur and he looked happy; Thorin had to again suppress the jealousy that it kindled in his heart. _No, _he'd promised himself that this time he would not allow himself to be ruled by such emotions. Possessiveness, jealousy, covetousness - they were things of the past, now, and Thorin was determined that they would not stand in the way this time.

That was easier said than done, however, when Bofur's hand rested on Bilbo's arm just a little longer than Thorin would like.

As Thorin sat at the opposite end of the table to Bilbo, being careful not to nudge cutlery or make anything unusual happen, it was the start of Thorin's quest - not to reclaim a mountain, this time, but the sight of his One and Beloved. Thorin _would _make Bilbo see again.

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Thank you all so very very much for all your reviews, favs and follows, by the way. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it! :3**

**Merry Christmas everyone, and God bless! ^.^ **


	10. Flowers of the Heart

**A/N: Look, I finally updated! I'm sorry the chapter is short bit I've got to revise for my mock exams so I won't be able to write much. Also once I start school again tomorrow I've really got to work because I need to get good grades to go to uni, so unfortunately my fics will have to take second priority. :'( hopefully I'll still be able to give you one chapter a week at least, though. :)**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter and I hope it won't be _too_ long for the next one. :)**

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Breakfast the next day for Bilbo was better; he put on a brave face and found that his friends were so eager to make him happy that it was impossible for him to feel sad for too long. That didn't mean the ache in his heart lessened, however.

Balin was not at breakfast so Bilbo turned to Bofur, who was just as dedicated a friend as before, to ask what he had been brought to Erebor for. Bofur looked a little uncertain and he didn't immediately answer, but he patted Bilbo's arm gently and said that Balin would explain everything when the time was right.

Bilbo ate ravenously that morning, making more than one member of the Company laugh at his appetite. Bilbo just grinned and continued eating while the others joked around. Finally Bilbo could eat no more and he sat back in his chair, patting his stomach in a satisfied manner.

'What's the plan for today?' he asked in the moment of quiet that fell after one particularly raucous round of laughter. He had missed this, he'd missed noisy dinners and lively gatherings of friends. It was his _friends _he'd missed during those lonely evenings in his too-large smial which felt forever empty, filled with echoes of their merry shouts and cheers that fateful dinner nearly two years ago.

The others seemed to tense slightly and looked as if they were concentrating on something. Bilbo frowned slightly - they were all acting rather strangely and it made Bilbo feel uneasy.

'We're showing you around a bit,' Dori said. 'Now that Erebor is nearly back to its full glory, we thought you might like to see the city.'

Bilbo nodded eagerly. 'I would indeed love to. It's certainly different from... From before.' He finished with a frown and looked down at his now-empty plate, feeling all the food he'd eaten turn to stone in his stomach as he remembered the last time he'd been in Erebor.

'What's - what's it been like, without Thorin?' he suddenly asked, looking up at the others and fiddling with the gold buttons on his waistcoat. 'I only ask because... Well... I had thought I might visit...him.'

The others looked at him gently, Bofur with particular sadness. Dwalin cleared his throat and spoke for them all, his eyes hovering somewhere just by Bilbo's shoulder.

'It's not been easy. We've all of us had to...adapt, and get used to everything. To be honest it's even now hard to truly believe that he's gone.' The others all murmured in agreement. 'Except he's not - he's not _really _gone because he's still here, _in _the mountain. He _is _the mountain, since his tomb is of the rock... Bilbo, I know for a fact that Thorin would appreciate it - you going to see him again.'

Bilbo huffed to hide the way he wanted to cry at those words. 'Yes, well, I'm not really going to see _him, _am I? Maybe if he hadn't died on m- us...' he trailed off before sniffing, his eyes more watery than he'd like. 'Could... Could we go now?' he asked in a small voice. Bofur smiled and rested a hand on his arm for a moment while most of the others got up, said goodbye and went off to their respective jobs, leaving Bilbo with Bofur and Dori.

Bilbo tried hard not to let his emotion show on his face, focusing instead on the item in his pocket that he'd bought at the Rethe festival after he'd got back home and had kept on him at all times. He twiddled tiny silk petals beneath his fingertips, remembering eyes of the same hue as those forget-me-nots in his pocket boring into his own. He kept his gaze straight ahead, however, and as such didn't notice the sidelong glances sent by his companions to what appeared to be an empty space of air.

They travelled deeper down into the Mountain, further down even than the mines until it was deathly quiet around them. They walked through a corridor fulll of effigies and Bofur pointed to one which made Bilbo's breath catch in his throat. The sharp nose, set jaw and brooding eyebrows... It was Thorin, carved out of marble and the stone eyes glinting palely in the light from Dori's torch. That was the only light Thorin's eyes would ever shine with again, Bilbo thought sadly, but even so he couldn't take his eyes off the carven figure.

'His tomb's this way,' Bofur murmured and gently he led Bilbo through a door to their right, his hand gently resting on Bilbo's elbow before he dropped it quickly.

They were in a small room, one single torch in the corner throwing the stone tomb which stood in the centre of the room into relief. There were tiny slivers of mithril spelling out the name on the tomb.

_Thorin Oakenshield_

_King of Erebor, the Second of his Name_

_Loyalty, Honour, A Willing Heart_

Bilbo stopped and stared at it, heart thumping wildly now he was here. Oh Yavanna, he was going to break down, he couldn't stop the tears-

'We keep a torch burning in every tomb,' Dori said softly and Bilbo gulped, gasping for air. 'One flame of Durin's fire to guide them.'

It was beautiful and painful and Bilbo stepped closer to the tomb. He turned to the other two. 'Could I possibly... Just for a few minutes?' he asked, and they nodded and backed away and shut the door gently behind them.

In the semi-darkness Bilbo let himself cry. He let himself grieve as he reached out and touched a hand to the cool rock. He fancied he could almost feel a warm hand on his own, a comforting presence that made him weep all the more bitterly. He brought out the little bunch of tiny forget-me-not flowers made of silk, twisting the wire stems between his fingers. He licked his lips nervously, even though there was absolutely no reason for him to be.

'You know,' he said to the room, the enclosed space making his voice bounce off the walls in a rather eery way. 'Even after everything, I never wanted you to die.' He knew it was hopeless, and Thorin was _dead; _but perhaps the rock would carry his words to him, wherever he was in the rock of the Mountain. 'I don't take back what I did and I'd still do it again, no matter how many times you exiled me. But I could have gone home and felt happier knowing you'd lived,' he whispered. 'Your death hurts the most and it had to be you, you stupid, _stubborn_ dwarf, who would _insist_ on rushing in like that-'

Bilbo hid his face in his hands, shoulders trembling from the effort of not crying. He took a deep breath. 'You told me once that dwarves love but once in their lives. I know you never thought of me beyond as your burglar,' he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, 'but you should know, Thorin, that you will forever hold my heart. No one else, only ever you...'

He trailed off, tears running down his face in silent streams; especially when Bilbo thought he could almost smell the faint scent of musk and earth that was Thorin and in the silence he imagined he could hear just the faintest echo of his name, the word ghosting off unseen lips. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and quickly placed the flowers on the tomb. They weren't as good as fresh ones - he'd have loved to have put down a proper hobbit grave wreath - but it would do for now.

He stilled however when his change in position threw the torch light onto the tomb and Bilbo saw them. Cracks in the stone of the tomb. Bilbo called Dori and Bofur, bringing them both barging in looking worried. He pointed to the tomb.

'It's damaged,' he said.

Instantly the two looked wary. ' Damaged?' Bofur asked, and the two came closer and peered at the tomb. They traced the contours - the mithril strong and undamaged but with one large crack down the middle of the stone. There were a few smaller, hairline cracks branching off from the main, large one.

Dori and Bofur exchanged a glance, which Bilbo didn't miss.

'What is it?' he whispered.

'Nothing, Bilbo,' Dori said. 'It's probably just the result of tremors.'

Bilbo nodded but the way the two had looked at each other had made him nervous. Suddenly he didn't want to be in here anymore; the dark was too close and oppressive and he didn't want to see Thorin's tomb any more, with its cracks and pitiful silk flowers he'd left. He turned and quickly opened the door, Bofur and Dori quickly following and leading him up and out of the corridor of effigies until they were back in the well-lit parts of the mountain. Bilbo swallowed against the lump in his throat.

'I'm sorry,' he said softly. 'I...'

''S alrigh',' Bofur said gently and he drew Bilbo in for a hug, Bilbo seeking comfort from those warm arms around him. Bofur smelled of tobacco smoke and ale and his arms were strong, but Bilbo couldn't help remembering _another _set of strong arms around him and it was so hard not to pretend that the beard scratching the top of his head was Thorin's, so he hastily extricated himself from Bofur's embrace. He wiped hs eyes, and as such missed the pointed look Dori aimed at Bofur, who looked sheepish.

'Can we go for a smoke, please?' he asked, pleased to find his voice was steady. The others nodded and led him out to a terrace on the mountain side where he could look out over the plains. Bilbo fished in his pocket to get his pipe and tobacco tin, but stilled when he felt something in his pocket.

He felt it through the fabric of his waistcoat and then hesitantly slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled it out. In his hand lay a small emerald cut and shaped into the daintiest of flowers, petals thin and delicate. The centre had a diamond pressed into the middle and tiny chips of diamond adorned the petals, making the flower glint in the sun.

He made a half-choked noise, confusion clear on his face. How on earth had that ended up in his pocket? Where had it come from? He stared at it for a while, gaping in bewilderment. He closed his hand around it then. He'd seen similar things in the treasury when he'd accompanied the dwarves that fateful time a year ago, when Thorin had given him the mithril shirt. He'd pressed one of these into Bilbo's hand, looking as if he wanted to say something important before merely closing Bilbo's hand around it; but Bilbo had dropped it when the dwarf had turned away, his guilt over keeping the Arkenstone hidden so great he felt he couldn't accept anything.

Had it been this one? He couldn't tell for certain. But he felt no guilt this time as he slipped it back into his pocket, a reminder of his dwarf even if he had been a dwarf in the midst of the gold-sickness.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading and I really hope you enjoyed :')**


	11. Words Aflame

**I've finally had some time to update! I think (hope) yyou'll enjoy this chapter, and the accompanying feels... eheheh. But this chapter... things will change after this. You'll see. ^.^**

**Hope you enjoy, and please do let me know what you think! Your comments are very, very much appreciated! :3**

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_Words Aflame_

Despite the constant pinch in his heart Bilbo was ready for lunch, and while his appetite had diminished slightly after the experience earlier that morning he still ate well - he was, after all, a hobbit; albeit one with a heart if not broken then not completely healed either. He became accustomed to the empty chair to his right although the jumpiness of his friends unnerved him still. He noticed however that Ori was missing, which was odd - the dwarf had shared Bilbo's enthusiasm at meal times while on their quest...

'Where's Ori?' he asked, already half finished with his meal.

'Probably in the library,' Dwalin answered and Dori gave a small huff, somewhere between laughter and exasperation.

'Often he forgets he still needs to eat, now he's got free run and charge of the library.'

Bilbo sat up slightly straighter. 'The library?'

'Aye. I think he's researching something at the moment - something about our ancient traditions,' Dwalin said. 'I'll go and fetch him afterwards. Ye can tag along and I'm sure he'd be more than happy to show you his pride and joy.'

Bilbo smiled at that, and felt the ache in his chest lessen somewhat. 'That'd be lovely. Thank you.'

After that lunch passed quickly and soon Bilbo was following Dwalin to Erebor's library, his pulse quickening in anticipation. At the doors Dwalin turned to him.

'You go on in and find the lad; I need to go and fetch some of his papers from his chambers but I'll be back in a minute.' And then Dwalin was gone.

Hesitantly - and Bilbo wasn't sure why he felt so nervous - he pushed open the door and stepped inside, instantly awed. The library was _huge, _a cavernous hall filled to bursting with tomes and scrolls. Bilbo had no delusions that he'd be able to read most of them, as they would be in Khuzdûl, but perhaps with Ori to translate for him...

He jumped as something rustled in the still silence, spinning around but seeing no one. Shaking his head, he gently touched his forefinger to the leather-bound volumes as he walked further in to the library, peering around for Ori, but then stopped as the running of his fingertips made a sound too loud for his liking in this silence. His heart felt as if it was in his throat, and he had no idea why.

'Hello?' he called softly. 'Ori?'

There was no reply and Bilbo moved further into the library, to the centre from which all the shelves fanned out. He could see no sign of the dwarf and he began to wonder if perhaps Dwalin had been mistaken when he heard a soft rustle behind him again, as of clothes with the slight chink of metal. He turned again, only to be confused and beginning to be almost afraid when there was nothing but empty air. He stumbled backwards, truly unnerved, then jumped perhaps a foot in the air when Ori suddenly poked his head around a book shelf.

'Bilbo!' he said, feeling pleased if rather harassed. 'I wasn't expecting you...'

'No, I, Dwalin...' Bilbo struggled with the words, eyes raking over Ori and noting that the scribe wore no metal...

'Oh, did Dwalin bring you?' He'd never seen Ori look so harried as he drew his fingers through his hair. 'I'm in the middle of a big research project, I'm sorry I'm all over the place.'

'So he said.'

'I found a reference in one of the old scrolls while I was clearing. I don't know if it's true or not - which is why I'm researching - but it made reference to an old dwarvish belief...' Ori almost sounded as if he was babbling. Bilbo narrowed his eyes, glancing at the space to his left to which Ori's eyes kept flicking. 'I suppose it _could _have been true once, to give rise to the story, and it gives mentions of Mahal... To put it simply, it said that dwarves could be reborn of rock.'

Bilbo looked suitably shocked, and he had to quash the sudden hope that assailed him. Could it be that...

'From what I've found the dwarves who were reborn usually had all yet to claim their One, having found them...'

Well, that was that. Bilbo tried not to let his disappointment show on his face. No mention had been made of Thorin having any such attachment, and he remembered Balin distinctly affirming the negativity of this statement.

The door opened behind Ori and Dwalin walked in, clutching a stack of papers.

'Dwalin!' Ori said, sounding slightly relieved. 'You brought my papers! I was just telling Bilbo all about my research...'

Dwalin gave a chuckle which sounded distinctly ill at ease. 'Don't mind him. It's probably all nonsense.'

'No, it's interesting,' Bilbo protested. 'Please Ori, tell me more.'

'Really?' Dwalin and Ori asked at the same time.

Bilbo nodded and Ori looked pleased as he led him to a table and spread the papers out on it - all written in Khuzdûl but Ori pointed out and translated important runes for him. The rest of the afternoon passed like that, Bilbo becoming incredibly intrigued by but also more hopeless the more Ori explained and internally he scoffed at himself. He just had to accept that Thorin was _gone, _he was dead and he wasn't coming back.

Ori noticed him grow quieter and suggested they go to dinner; Bilbo nodded silently and allowed himself to be led from the library back to the dining room, barely noticing the soft whoosh of air that fluttered softly over him as if from an unseen cloak.

Bilbo was morose and while he tried to shake off the sadness that lingered over him, he found it harder to smile - espscially as he could still feel the weight of the emerald flower in his pocket - and soon after dinner was finished he retired to his own chambers, making his way through the quiet corridors and relishing the feel of the cold stone on his feet and the sharp pain when he stubbed a toe, because it meant he waa focusing on anything, anything at all, other than what remained of his heart and the dwarf who had held the rest of it.

Once in his own suite Bilbo sank down on the armchair by the fire, staring miserably into its depths. He took out the emerald flower from his pocket, studying it in his palm. Why did he have it? Why was it important? His head hurt and he felt sick so he slipped it back into his pocket and went to the bed.

He picked up the coat - Thorin's coat - and took it back with him to the chair by the fire, covering himself with it and playing with the fur between his fingertips, enjoying the feel of the softness, gentle on his skin. His throat constricted when he thought of Thorin wearing this, so proud and stubborn but by Yavanna so _alive, _and why was it that everyone Bilbo loved died too soon? For one terrible moment he wanted rid of it; for one tense horrible moment Bilbo was tempted to throw it on the fire and let the flames consume it, and what was left of his heart along with it, but at the last moment he stayed his hand.

Something within him was shouting, pleading with him to stop. He froze as the voice sounded, ringing through his head in the deep timbre he knew so well, and then he began to sob. Tomorrow he would begin anew, start afresh, but tonight he would wallow and cry and rue the very day he ever met Thorin Oakenshield before he then rued that thought too, his heart cracking with every sob that racked his body.

Not long after, exhausted and spent of all emotion, Bilbo fell asleep curled up in the chair, Thorin's coat still draped across him.

* * *

It was painful for Thorin, to be able to see his One, knowing that the other thought he was dead. And Thorin knew of pain - he'd lost enough family members and fought in enough wars to know what pain was. He'd danced with death and come back to tell the tale.

But none of that prepared him for the pure and unadulterated agony of seeing his Bilbo, his Beloved, weep so for him. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, comfort him and hold him close but he could not. When Bilbo had looked to cast his coat into the flames, Thorin had acted selfishly but he could not bear the thought of his One throwing away the one thing he had of his and he had called out, not knowing if it was in vain or not but simply _acting; _it had worked, but then he'd been faced with the new and harder torture of seeing his One so broken.

When Bilbo fell asleep, Thorin crept closer from where he'd sat in the shadows, kneeling on the floor so that his head was at the same height as Bilbo's. Tear tracks stained his face and a frown furrowed his brow, but he slept evenly and, Thorin hoped, peacefully. But if he stayed here, curled into the too-large chair, his neck would feel it tomorrow.

And so Thorin ever so gently and carefully lifted Bilbo up, pulling him into his arms as easily as a child and carrying him to the bed. Thorin placed him down gently and drew up the covers tucking them close around Bilbo's exhausted form.

He sat there for a moment, stroking his hobbit's soft hair and pretending that this were real - that Bilbo was really his, and it was a smile gracing that beautiful face and not a frown, and that he could lie down next to Bilbo and wake in the morning to his smile. But it wasn't, and he couldn't.

Bilbo's curls were so soft and so unlike anything Thorin had seen, so golden and perfect and s_o Bilbo._

Knowing things and acting upon them are two completely different things. Thorin knew that he shouldn't do what he did; but it didn't stop him from doing it. His fingers began to separate the hobbit's curls into strands and then he began to plait them, a simple braid of love and intention. It was small, just behind his left ear, and when it was done Thorin pressed the lightest of kisses to Bilbo's pointed ear.

His heart stopped when Bilbo's eyes fluttered open ever so slightly and - _they focused on Thorin._ He gasped and Bilbo gave a small, sad smile as his eyes shut again and he was once more asleep.

Thorin barely heard the tiny breath that escaped his lips, the soft 'Thorin' that set Thorin aflame with love and tenderness. He pressed another kiss to Bilbo's temple, lingering for just a moment longer than before but Bilbo didn't wake again. Thorin backed out of the room slowly, reluctant to leave Bilbo but knowing he couldn't stay there for the night.

He shut the door softly behind him, the memory of a small braid woven into soft curls still ghosting on his fingertips.


	12. Whole of Heart

**A/N: Thank you ALL SO MUCH for all your lovely comments on the last chapter! And now, as a thank you for all your wonderful support... Chapter 12! And I think that after this, you will either love me or hate me. (Probably the latter, actually.) That's all I'm gonna say... Please enjoy! Mwahahaha. ;)**

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_Whole of Heart_

It was a good thing that Bilbo Baggins decided to wash the next morning, eyes sore from crying and clothes wrinkled and dirty. It was lucky that he liked his hair neat and so combed it thoroughly. And most fortuitous of all, he thought as he stormed to the dining hall where all his dwarves would be eating, was that he'd found the _thing _behind his ear before he'd gone wandering around Erebor with it.

He walked furiously, feet hardly hitting the floor he moved so fast, one hand clamped firmly over his ear to hide _it _from prying, nosy eyes.

He reached the dining room and threw open the door, making the dwarves inside jump and look at him worriedly. And well they might, because he may only be four feet tall but he was four feet of complete indignation.

'Bilbo?' Bofur asked, concern in his voice at Bilbo's anger, but Bilbo waved an arm in his direction and he was quiet, looking hurt at the rebuff. But Bilbo's eyes narrowed on one dwarf only, one dark-haired dwarf with the Durin blue eyes in particular.

'Kíli, what in _all of Yavanna's gardens _have you done to my hair?' he said through gritted teeth.

Kíli looked stunned. 'Me?'

'Yes, you. Last night. What did you do to my hair?'

He showed them the braid that had appeared overnight, just behind his left ear, for no explicable reason. Except Bilbo remembered. He remembered a dwarf with dark hair leaning over him and smiling as they fiddled with his hair. In his sleep-addled, hazy brain he'd thought -_ wished_ - it was Thorin, but it was Kíli. Of course it was Kíli, because there _was_ no Thorin and his stupid, stupid heart needed to listen to his brain and regain some good hobbit sense.

He saw their eyes widen at the sight as they took in the braid. Bilbo himself didn't know exactly what it meant, but he knew the rules of braiding another's hair and knew that if this was a joke, it was humiliating and not a very funny one at all.

'Bilbo, I didn't-' Kíli began.

'Fíli, were you in on it too? Did you think it was funny to do this?' Bilbo rounded on the older of the two Princes, who looked pale as a sheet as he made a strangled protest.

'Bilbo, we had nothing to do with this! Kíli and I went straight to our chambers after dinner. We never went near your rooms.'

Bilbo's conviction slipped away slightly and with it a little of his indignation.

'Bofur? Was it you?' The hatted dwarf shook his head, ear-flaps flapping in his denial.

Bilbo stared at them all, suddenly feeling very drained and uncertain and small.

'But I remember... I saw... I saw someone last night. Who looked like Kíli...' Bilbo didn't tell them that he'd seen Thorin, because he saw Thorin _every_ night in his heart-sick sleep. 'I'm not imagining it!' he protested at the looks on their faces. 'I'm not mad. There was someone there.'

No one said anything for a moment and Bilbo stood awkwardly, scuffing his toes until Balin stood.

'Bilbo, I think you need to know now. I'm going to tell you why we invited you here.'

'Yes, you did make it sound rather urgent,' Bilbo groused to hide the foreboding that was creeping up on him. 'I came as quickly as I could but it seems you don't really-'

'Bilbo, please listen,' Balin interrupted, looking terribly serious. Bilbo frowned and crossed his arms over himself, a protective gesture, and nodded to show he was listening.

'You know that Thorin fell in the battle a year ago, and died of his wounds-'

'Yes, thank you, I don't need reminding. I've seen his tomb.' Bilbo tightened his grip as tendrils of pain shot through him at the mention of the dwarf's name. 'Sorry,' he said, when Balin looked at him pointedly.

'Well, Thorin died then. But the reason we brought you back here is because he's back.'

Bilbo just stared at Balin.

'He's back,' he deadpanned.

'As alive as you and I.'

If Bilbo's heart hadn't been doing such painful things in his chest, he might have laughed. But the pain was too much as part of him fought to believe and the other to quash such nonsense.

'What is this?' he gasped, leaning back on the door frame and holding a hand to his chest. His heart was pumping fast, too fast. 'Humiliate Bilbo day? I don't believe you.'

'I know it's a lot to take in, but Bilbo-'

'This is more than "a lot to take in", Balin! People don't just go around dying and then springing back to life!'

'Did you not listen to anything Ori said yesterday?' Dwalin asked, and Bilbo knew he was probably bright red by now.

'All of Ori's potential theories as to how it may or may not be possible for you to die and be brought back to life? They're half-baked at most, I'm sorry Ori! And even if what you said was true, how does Thorin even fit the criteria you put forward to me? You said they had to have Ones-'

The room went deathly silent, and all Bilbo could hear was his own outraged, disbelieving heavy breathing. This was possibly the only time he'd ever seen the dwarves completely silent, and it terrified him.

'Perhaps you should ask him yourself,' Balin said quietly.

Bilbo turned and in his moment of distraction two pairs of hands gripped a shoulder each and began leading him out of the room. Fíli and Kíli, each looking determinedly grim. Bilbo tried to wriggle free of their grips but they were like vices and soon he gave up.

'Please, boys, let me go!' he said irritably, taking advantage of Kíli's momentary distraction at his protests to yank his arm free of the slightly loosened grip.

'Not until you believe,' Fíli said softly, as different from his iron grip as possible but with an authority Bilbo had never heard him use before. Bilbo grit his teeth and allowed himself to be led. He recognised his corridor and thought for one horrible moment that they were going to shut him in his room, that they thought he was mad when they were so evidently delusional - tears sprung into his eyes because no matter how much he wished Thorin was alive, he _couldn't _be - but then they stopped outside the door before his.

Kíli knocked once and then opened the door, entering and Fíli nudged Bilbo inside too.

'Uncle Thorin,' they both murmured and Bilbo shut his eyes. He couldn't do this, he didn't want to have to face this -

'Bilbo, open your eyes,' Fíli said and Bilbo took a few deep, shuddering breaths. Fíli's grip relaxed on his arm and he opened his eyes to look down at the arm where previously there had been a vice-like hold, and he rubbed gingerly at it, keeping his eyes downcast. The boys were looking at him expectantly, smiles on their faces and they glanced at a point in front of them. Hesitantly, painfully slowly, Bilbo raised his head until he was looking at -

Nothing. There was nothing there. He exhaled shakily and looked at the boys, whose faces began to fall.

'Can you not see him? Uncle's right there-'

'I can't see anything, because there is nothing to see,' Bilbo said stiffly. 'Now if you don't mind, I've had enough nonsense for today-' He made to brush past them, shaking off their grips on his arms but suddenly Kíli tightened his.

'No! Uncle, tell him-'

'Kíli, he's not here!' Bilbo said, upset and shaken; his hands balled into fists and trembling at his sides. Oh Yavanna, he'd hoped that perhaps there could be a miracle and Thorin had been re-awoken, but it had been a _fool's_ hope and he felt crushed, his heart bring ripped apart. 'He's _dead_, Kíli, and we can't change that-'

Bilbo's voice broke on the last words and he pushed past Kíli and out of the door, angrily wiping away the tears that were stinging at his eyes.

'Thorin, you have to say something -' he heard Fíli protest when Bilbo suddenly connected with a sturdy dwarf chest, momentarily knocking him backwards before the arms attached to the chest drew him in for a hug. Bilbo recognised Bofur's tunic, smelling of tobacco and mint.

He tried to draw away but the dwarf held on to him.

'Bilbo, you have to believe it-' he started but Bilbo pushed at him, Bofur's arms releasing him as they stared each other down.

'I don't _have_ to do anything, Bofur, not when-'

'Yes you do, Bilbo, when you're just killing him all over again!' Bofur's voice rose with emotion and Bilbo looked away, his tears once again prickling at his eyes and threatening to spill. 'Thorin has loved you for so long, Bilbo, and if you could see him now you wouldn't know him as the same dwarf!' Bofur's voice was barely controlled and Bilbo looked at him, eyes glittering with tears.

'That's the point, though, Bofur, isn't it?' Bilbo hissed, his voice surprisingly steady. 'I _can't_ see him. Because he's _dead.'_

Bofur shook his head. 'And you called _us_ stubborn! Bilbo Baggins, if you ever loved Thorin Oakenshield then _open your eyes.'_

Bofur looked at him once more, then looked up at the open door where Fíli and Kíli were standing, watching. They walked out of the room and came to stand next to Bofur, walking past Bilbo. Bofur continued to look at a point in the doorway and he gave a rough nod.

'Tell him, Thorin. Make him believe.' With a last look at Bilbo he turned and Fíli and Kíli followed him, throwing a last glance back in his direction.

Bilbo looked around him, still seeing nothing, and huffed in frustration, tears leaking out and leaving tracks on his cheeks. This was ridiculous and painful and Bilbo wasn't even sure what he was doing here when there was no one there; suddenly he froze as he felt something on his cheek.

Something warm and gentle.

He lifted a hand to his cheek, still seeing nothing but then there was a hand clutching at his own, large and calloused and very definitely alive. His breath hitched as the still unseen hand squeezed his ever so gently.

'Thorin?' he said quietly, confusion and bewilderment in his voice. He felt another hand touch his other cheek, a feather light touch smoothing away the tear that struggled its way down Bilbo's face.

Suddenly Bilbo sprang back, fear entering his eyes. _It couldn't be real, it couldn't be - _

He turned his back to the unseen figure, tears streaming freely down his face. He bit his lip. Had his imagination finally got the better of him and was manifesting itself in these sensations?

It couldn't be his imagination, he decided, because the feel of a hand softly stroking a small curl at the nape of his neck was entirely too real. But then, that's what they all thought, all the mad people, and that's what made them mad-

He shivered when he felt a soft kiss being pressed to his neck, by lips warm and soft.

If he was mad, then he was mad. If this was madness, then he would happily trade his mind if it meant Thorin was there.

'I love you,' he said brokenly, his voice cracking on the words but never had he spoken a truer statement. Thorin was his heart - even dead, he still held Bilbo's heart. But after he spoke the words there was nothing but stillness and Bilbo was about to break down into fresh tears at the loss, hallucination though it might be, when suddenly hands were on his arms in a firm but gentle grip and a voice was whispering into his ear - a voice he'd thought never to hear again.

'I love you, Bilbo Baggins,' it said in Thorin's deep tone, and then Bilbo was turned around by those large hands on his arms and he was pulled close, his nose buried in furs and velvet while kisses were pressed to the top of his head and he breathed in the familiar scent of...

Of Thorin. _His _Thorin. He pulled back, leaving his arms and looking up at his dwarf's face. He nearly crumpled when he saw him. His knees buckled and if Bilbo hadn't managed to lean back against the wall, he would have fallen. Because there was Thorin, his dwarf. He... Oh, Bilbo couldn't look because he looked just the same but so much older; sadder and more tired and still absolutely perfect. Bilbo bit his knuckle to stop himself from crying.

'Bilbo?' The gentle gruffness of that voice, filled with so much emotion. Thorin was looking at him so sadly, so hopefully that Bilbo didn't know what to do.

Thorin looked as if he was going to move towards him again and in a sudden rush of fear Bilbo threw his arms out in front of him.

'Don't!' he said, his voice cracking. 'Don't, just stay there.'

Thorin stayed still, unmoving as rock as he waited for Bilbo to say something.

'Is it true?' Bilbo managed to get out eventually, his breath catching on his throat.

Thorin nodded.

'About... Everything?'

'If you mean that you are my One, Bilbo, and that I love you, then yes.' Yavanna, his voice was just the same, the same deep tone that vibrated in Bilbo's chest, the same voice he heard every night in his dreams and was now right here in front of him.

Bilbo just stared, his heart hammering. Thorin looked the same, smelt the same, _felt _the same... But he'd been dead. And now he was back and Bilbo's head hurt, it hurt so much.

'Nope,' he shook his head. He needed a moment, he needed time to _think. _He turned and hurried away, feeling Thorin's eyes on him as he scurried blindly down the corridors until he found a quiet staircase, dusty with its little use, and he sank down and bit his fist, trying desperately not to cry.

It was Thorin. _His Thorin. _

And he was his Bilbo. His One. Thorin had come back...for him. Bilbo didn't notice that for the first time in a year, his heart had stopped hurting. It felt whole again.

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**(A/N: Told you you'd hate me.) :3**


	13. Confrontations and Courting

**A/N: waaah guys I'm so sorry for the long wait! Real Life was a bum recently and I also struggled a bit with writer's block for this chapter. I'm still not completely happy with it and I apologise in advance if you think Bilbo or Thorin's reactions are out of character. I tried and I'm sorry if I failed! I can't make any promises about the next update time but I felt so bad for the long wait since the last one that I couldn't really keep you waiting any longer. So please do enjoy this chapter, even if it is a little under par, but hopefully you will still enjoy. :)**

**Thank you all so much for your mind-blowing support - I really can't say how much I love you all and thank you so much! :3 **

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**Confrontations and Courting**

Bilbo could see him. Bilbo could actually see him, he could hear him and see him! Bilbo knew he was alive. Thorin had seen those green eyes lock onto his properly for the first time and it had sent jolts through him.

And Bilbo loved him! Bilbo had said he loved him. Bilbo... _His_ Bilbo. His One.

Thorin let the hobbit leave, he let him have his space. Mahal knew, he needed it, given the shock he'd just had. He found the others and told them what had transpired and after he got them to promise to leave Bilbo be for a while - Dís included. Bofur merely gave him a stern look and Thorin nodded, understanding passing between them.

Then he went to the kitchens to prepare some food for Bilbo - he hadn't had breakfast, after all, and Thorin knew he would be hungry.

He followed the direction Bilbo had gone in originally, carrying the little bag of food under an arm, but after that it was all guesswork. He ended up doubling back on himself more than once until he reached the very rarely frequented parts of the royal quarters, where he heard shaky breaths.

He saw Bilbo sitting on a set of steps, his head leaning against the wall and fingers clenching and unclenching at his jacket.

'Bilbo?' Thorin said softly. Immediately the hobbit stiffened and scrambled up, backing away a few paces from Thorin. The dwarf lowered himself down so that he was sitting below where Bilbo had been. He held out the package.

'I brought you food,' he said quietly, placing it down within Bilbo's reach and then turning away, as he would with a skittish animal. There was silence for a moment and then Thorin smiled to himself when he heard Bilbo take it and open it, before busying himself eating.

'Thank you,' Bilbo said stiffly, and Thorin's heart warmed just to hear his voice.

'You're welcome.'

They sat in silence for a while, Bilbo chewing on the food while Thorin looked resolutely ahead, knowing that every moment he denied himself a view of his love now would be it worth it in the end. He could still feel the shiver of Bilbo's body in his arms.

The sound of Bilbo's eating stopped soon and then there was silence. Thorin waited, letting Bilbo decide what happened now.

'You died.' It was a statement, nothing questioning or even accusing in the flat way Bilbo said it.

Thorin nodded his head in acknowledgement. 'I did. You were there, the last thing I saw.'

He heard Bilbo's intake of breath. 'And now you're not dead. How is that possible?'

'Ori's research hasn't been able to tell us exactly how, but we know the why. A dwarf who finds his One but doesn't acknowledge it or have the chance to do so can be reborn, if he dies in the rock of his birth. As I was born in Erebor and I had found but not claimed my One, I...fit.' Thorin risked a glance at Bilbo. He looked troubled and he was picking at his nails.

'About that. You say that I'm...'

'You are my One, yes. Bilbo Baggins, let me tell you now what I should have told you the first time I met you and _every day_ since then-' Thorin turned fully, moving up a couple of steps so that he was closer to Bilbo. 'Bilbo, you are the other half of my heart, of my soul. You make me complete and without you I'm a shell.' He heard Bilbo's breath catch slightly and he lowered his voice just a little more, holding Bilbo's gaze with his own. 'I love you, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. I love you to the very ends of the earth and back; my love for you is as endless as the cycle of days and nights and I would that you let me love you - for as long as I live, or until you no longer wish it.'

Bilbo was looking at him with an unreadable look on his face. Thorin leaned forward ever so slightly, reaching out to touch his soft cheek gently -

But Bilbo was up on his feet in a flash. 'No,' he said desperately and immediately Thorin moved away again.

'Don't go,' he said softly, pleadingly, and Bilbo stopped, breathing heavily.

'You were _dead,_' he said, cutting off a sob. 'I cried for you, every night. Every single night since you died in my arms, I have wept for you!'

'I know,' Thorin said, quiet with guilt.

'And you think that just because you're somehow alive again, it makes everything alright? And no one thought to tell me? For _months _I stayed in the Shire, thinking I would never see any of you but especially _you _ever again! I thought I was going to have to wait until my own time came, just to see you one last time-'

'Don't say that,' Thorin pleaded.

'Thorin Oakenshield, I grieved for you, and not one word did I receive! I went to your funeral and I visited your tomb-' He stopped and gasped when Thorin held something out to him, dropping it into his palm.

Blue silk forget-me-nots. The very ones he'd left on the tomb.

Bilbo choked on a sob before he stuttered out- 'you were there. I heard you-'

'I was there. And the flower in your pocket,' he said, and Bilbo touched a finger to the pocket to feel the emerald. 'Do you remember it, Bilbo? I was going to tell you, that day. I gave you the flower and I was going to tell you how much I loved you, how losing you would have ended me, but I was too much of a coward,' he finished bitterly. 'And I saw you drop it, so I thought... That I was unwelcome. So it was almost a relief to me to die that day, if my One didn't return my love. Better he have my heart than I.'

'Don't,' Bilbo whispered suddenly, dropping down to sit again. 'Don't, please. You have no idea...'

'I _do,_' Thorin said. 'Bilbo, you can't know what it's done to me, seeing you here every day but watching your slide past me every time. Just being in the same room as you was -'

'Don't!' Bilbo said again, standing again and beginning to nervously pace back and forth on his step. 'I'm... I'm so _angry, _Thorin! All this time and there was nothing, and for you to - to _braid my hair_, Thorin?' Bilbo was flushing, his cheeks turning pink. 'Did you think I wouldn't notice? Wouldn't question it?' And I was so rude to Kíli and the others about it.'

'I'm sorry,' Thorin said, reddening slightly himself.

Bilbo snorted. 'If you were there last night, does that mean you've been there every night? You've been there the whole time?'

Thorin's silence spoke volumes.

Bilbo huffed and glared at the dwarf in front of him, who looked suitably abashed. 'Truly, Bilbo, I never..._did _anything, or...anything. But last night was so difficult, because you - you nearly threw my coat away,' Thorin said beseechingly, remembering the anguish in Bilbo's cries. Bilbo looked away, his glance filled with a pain he didn't want Thorin to see.

'I assume that was you too?' he said stiffly.

Thorin nodded and Bilbo sighed and huffed as he sat down heavily, rubbing at his eyes and temples as if warding off a headache. Thorin scratched his chin self-consciously when Bilbo looked up at him again, studying him sharply, and his eyes focused on his beard.

'It's still short,' he noted. 'Why is it still short?'

'I have not earned it back,' Thorin said. 'Just as I do not wear much gold or silver or jewels, since I lost all right to them after what happened. I no longer enter the treasury after those imitations made me lose my own treasure, who should have been the most important thing to me.'

Bilbo said nothing. ' This doesn't make it all alright you know!' he said crossly. 'Just because I can see you now doesn't mean that suddenly everything's perfect! You have got some making up to do, Thorin Oakenshield, for leaving me in the dark for so long.' He gave Thorin a sidelong look. 'What if I didn't stay? What if I went home?'

The thought filled Thorin with a cold, leeching dread. 'I'd die,' he said immediately. 'I'd Fade. The price of only loving once and so completely is the Fading.'

Bilbo looked a little taken aback, but he gave a small smile then. 'Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not planning on leaving, then, isn't it?'

Thorin just beamed at his hobbit, his love, his One, his soul. Bilbo looked flustered at the unadulterated emotion on Thorin's face, but he still sat on the steps out of Thorin's reach. But that was alright; Thorin knew his hobbit, knew that he'd be angry or at the very least defensive when he was upset, and that Bilbo hadn't run off completely was more than he'd hoped for. Just feeling Bilbo's eyes on him was more intoxicating than even the strongest ale or headiest wine, and a thousand times more thrilling.

'Do you know, my love,' he said, noting with pleasure the way Bilbo jumped and flushed at being addressed so, 'that you look so very beautiful with a courting braid in your hair?'

He smirked as he watched Bilbo's face go from shock to confusion to comprehension to disgruntlement until he too smiled.

'Well, Master Oakenshield,' he replied coolly, 'I hope you have plenty of ideas on how you plan to win back my favour. You may have just set yourself a couple of spaces back with that little revelation.'

'The only way I can go now is forwards,' Thorin replied cheerfully. 'But I may have a few. I believe a proper breakfast is due, my sweet, if you're willing to join me?' he asked, standing and holding his hand out for Bilbo. Bilbo stood and took the proffered hand, and the feeling was as if a hundred of Gandalf's fireworks was going off in his stomach. It was all Thorin could do keep his breaths steady as he escorted Bilbo to the kitchens.

'I do love you, Thorin,' Bilbo murmured quietly. 'But I love seeing you squirm even more. Now, I hope it's something very special for second breakfast; I'm quite famished after this morning.'


End file.
